


Me, You and Peter, Too

by starspangledsprocket



Series: Me, You and Peter, Too [1]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluffy, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Build, Superfamily (Marvel), Team Bonding, Toddler!Peter, Unrequited/Requited, daddy Steve Rogers, family building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-09 13:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1984413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledsprocket/pseuds/starspangledsprocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve can't stomach the thought of Peter growing up in an orphanage. He knows what that's like, and he will do anything to stop that from happening to another child. If that means he adopts Peter himself, so be it. </p>
<p>In the meantime, he has to figure out what to do about his feelings for Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Tú, yo y Peter también](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5681278) by [Jake91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jake91/pseuds/Jake91)



> This fic is a gift for icangoonallnight on Tumblr. It's been a long time coming, so I hope you enjoy it, bby!
> 
> This is also the first time I've done a chaptered fic! The whole thing is finished, and in the process of being betaed by the wonderful annabeththeunicorn and commando-rogers, who have been wonderful.

Considering his best friend was still brainwashed and on the run, things for Steve had actually been pretty good since the fall of SHIELD. The trail had gone suspiciously cold just outside Moscow – something that had driven Sam absolutely mad – but Steve was under the impression that, when he was ready, Bucky would come to them. They'd managed to collect information along the way, after all, and – for now, at least – Steve was content for that to be enough. He knew his best friend better than anyone else after all, alive or dead.

From there they had flown back to Steve's apartment in DC – a little dejected, but overly still hopeful – only to find...

“ _Stark?”_

He was really getting sick of people breaking into his home.

“Hey, Cap,” the billionaire replied, swinging to his feet from where he had been sitting at the dining table. “Nice place. Neighbourhood's a little more... _flamboyant_ than I thought you'd be comfortable with, but kudos to you for fully immersing yourself in the twenty first century. And, hey, you've got yourself a friend! Am I interrupting something, or -”

“What are you doing here, Stark?” Steve cut him off, because he really wasn't in the mood for his snark.

“Wow, I mean, I was just kidding, Cap, but you got a little defensive, there. Got something to tell us -”

“ _Stark.”_

“Okay, okay,” the man acquiesced, putting his hands up in defence as his shoulders sagged a little. “I just, I had a little trouble recently, so I've been staying in the New York place while my Malibu pad gets refurbished. I'm fine, by the way – thanks for the concern. But anyway, I was going through some of the systems – you know, doing a few patches and upgrades – when JARVIS, he's my main man, tells me there's been a security breech, and that SHIELD's targeting me.

“Of course, I do a little digging – get round to looking at that info I pulled off the Helicarrier – and the rest isn't too hard to work out. I, uh... I just stopped by to, uh, to thank you, I guess.”

Steve's eyebrows rose in surprise, because, honestly, the last thing he had ever expected from Tony Stark, of all people, was a _thank you._

“That looked like it physically pained you, man,” Sam replied when it became obvious Steve was too shocked to speak. “You don't thank a lot of people, do you?”

“Only those who deserve it,” Stark replied, shrugging. “I heard you got pretty beaten up, and I just... maybe, if I'd looked at that intel earlier -”

“It's fine, Stark,” Steve told him, because the guy really did look like this conversation was causing him pain, and he wasn't about to make him apologise as well as thank them.

“You can...” Stark hesitated for a moment, brow pressed together as he glanced down at his shoes. “You can call me Tony, you know. If you want to, that is -”

“ _Tony,”_ Steve cut him off, because the brunet really could blather on when he wanted to. He didn't miss the small, genuine smile that tugged at the corner of the man's lips, though. “It's fine. Is there anything else?”

“Your bedroom,” Tony blurted eloquently, then sighed – obviously exasperated with himself. It was a little endearing, honestly. “I mean that I have a room all set up for you at the tower – for all the Avengers – and I strongly suggest that you take it. As much as I hate to say it, Fury had our backs, and now he's gone, we're going to need a lot more than a riveting speech from Natasha on Capital Hill to protect us – especially with all of SHIELD's secrets having been leaked. We need to stick together – safety in numbers, and all that.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

“That we're not exactly in the public's – or, more importantly, the _Government_ ' _s –_ good books right now, and we need to be careful,” the genius replied seriously. “Listen, Cap, you're used to battlefields that have trenches and guns, but I'm used to battlefields with witness boxes and public enquiries. Just... trust me on this?”

Steve looked at him for a few moments, trying gauge whether he was sincere or not, and... for once in his life, he was certain that the man was. It was his eyes that gave it away, really, and, out of the blue, Steve thought that maybe that was why the brunet wore sunglasses so much – because his eyes gave absolutely everything away. Then, of course, he realised what a strange thought that was to have had, and quickly put it to the back of his mind.

“Steve,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest.

“I, uh... what?” Tony asked, frowning in confusion.

“If you're Tony, I'm Steve,” he told him, and watched as realisation of what that offer meant dawned on the genius' face.

“Good, that's... good,” he nodded, smiling again. “And, hey, your buddy can come, too, if you want. Probably a good idea if he does, actually – I saw footage of that suit, and -”

“Dude, I have a job,” Sam cut him off, mirroring Steve's stance by crossing his arms over his chest. “There's lots of ways to help folks, and they don't all include superheroes duking it out.”

“There are lots of veterans in New York, too,” Tony shrugged. “I can talk to the military council – swing it so they can transfer you over to -”

“So you read my file, then?”

“- New York and you can... wait, what?”

“You been snooping through my business?” Sam repeated, eyes flinty. Steve was vaguely aware that he would be the one who'd have to break up any sort of fight that broke out between the two men.

“Well, no, I... I was just...” Tony stammered, then slapped on what, after seeing a few genuine smiles, Steve realised must be his public persona. “Gotta look after our assets, haven't we? It'd be no good if you turned out to be a super soldier slayer, or something. We need Steve alive.”

And... _huh._ Had Tony really gone to all that trouble just to make sure Steve was safe? That was a little out of left field for the genius, honestly, because – where they didn't hate each other anymore – they weren't exactly friends, either.

“So you got time to give me a background check, but not to look through some intel that could have helped us out?” Sam snarled. “Looks like you got your priorities all sorted out.”

“Children,” Steve warned before Tony could reply, because, after the couple of months he'd just had, he really didn't want to be dealing with this on top of everything else.

“I should be going,” Tony said stiffly, glancing at the ground again before turning his gaze on Steve. “If you still want to move in – and I highly suggest you do – a couple of movers will be by tomorrow to pack up your stuff. The other Avengers are already there, so -”

“Even Natasha?” Steve asked, genuinely interested, because he hadn't heard from her in a while.

“Uh, yeah,” Tony replied, obviously taken aback by his interest. “She asked about you, too, actually. Are you and her...?”

“We're friends,” Steve replied firmly, because – even if they were more, which they were absolutely not – it would have been none of the genius' business.

“Speak for yourself,” Sam mumbled under his breath, then grinned when Steve flashed him an unimpressed look.

Steve sighed, then nodded. Honestly, he just wanted this conversation to be over. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Great,” Tony grinned – his real one, this time, which Steve refused to think too much about. “I'll just let myself out, then, shall I?”

“How did you even get _in?”_ Steve asked, following after the man regardless as he wandered towards the door. “They told me this place had good security.”

“Agent Thirteen let me in,” Tony shrugged, as though that was the most normal thing in the world.

“Of course she did,” Steve sighed, opening the door for the man. “I suppose you go way back?”

“Well, now you mention it,” Tony replied, grin turning a little wistful, “her aunt babysat me when I was a kid sometimes, and I kept in touch. I take full responsibility for Sharon being able to hack as well as she can.”

The funny thing was, Steve could picture it – a teenage Tony sitting patiently with a little Sharon as he taught her how to hack government mainframes. It was a shame, really, that the fact she had lied to him had immediately turned him off, because she was actually just his type.

“Anyway, see you tomorrow, Steve,” Tony continued, offering a little wave as he walked through the door.

“See ya,” he replied, and then closed the door with a sigh and rested his head against it – not really sure what he had just gotten himself into.

“I don't know if the guy's scared of you or wants your dick, but, either way, you deserve better,” Sam snarked from behind him. Sighing again, Steve pushed away from the door and wandered over to the kitchenette, finding the other soldier with his head in his fridge.

“You're not allowed my food if you insult my team,” he replied, taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

Sam just flipped him the bird good-naturedly.

\---

In all honesty, Steve had expected moving in with the rest of the Avengers to be a complete nightmare. They were all such different people, after all, and – with their backgrounds and lines of work – all a little highly strung, too. As it turned out, though, in the months that followed, it kind of... _worked._ Sam dragged his heels a little, but eventually admitted he'd caught the superhero bug and moved in within two months. He and Tony still weren't the best of friends, but, y'know... baby steps.

Tony and _Steve_ , however? That was another story entirely. Admittedly, the first month or so had been a little awkward between them, but – at Natasha's insistence, actually – Steve finally built up the courage to tell the genius what had really happened to his parents. Tony hadn't been as surprised as he thought he'd be – actually told Steve that he had had a feeling from the beginning that they had been targeted, even though he hadn't been sure by whom. He'd thanked Steve nonetheless, and the whole experience had, actually, made them a lot closer.

Now, almost six months – and three further failed attempts at finding Bucky – later, Steve felt safe in saying that Tony was his best friend. His best friend from this time, at least. Sure, he loved Sam to pieces, but, thanks to his job, he didn't really get to see him all that often. With Pepper as his CEO (and nothing else, now, because they had finally broken up around three months after Steve had moved in), Tony was almost always at the tower, and – no matter how busy he was in his workshop – he always had time for Steve.

Take now, for example – Tony was currently completely upgrading the whole of JARVIS' mainframe, apparently, but he was doing so on a tablet whilst taking Steve through the original Star Wars trilogy for the first time, too.

“I'm going to make him smarter,” he told Steve quietly. “At the moment he can make his own decisions, but only within certain parameters, and only within the commands that I give him. By the time I'm done, he'll basically be a completely independent mind.”

Steve didn't know whether that thought terrified or excited him, so he didn't say anything at all. One thing was for sure, though – Tony was an absolute genius.

“So, this Han Solo fella,” he started, frowning at the screen. “He seems like a bit of an ass to me.”

“You'll love him by the end,” Tony replied absent-mindedly, eyes still focused on the tablet in front of him. “He's the loveable rogue.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Steve smiled, turning back to the screen. “Where are all the ladies in this movie? There's been, what? Luke's aunt and princess Leia, and that's it -”

That, of course, was when the Avengers alarm went off.

Sighing heavily, Tony quickly saved his work, then hit pause on the remote control. “Sorry, Steve. Looks like we're going to have to save the intellectual conversation on Lucas' complete lack of women in this franchise for another time. Right now, we've got a world to save.”

Steve rolled his eyes at the pure cheesiness of the genius' line, but still followed him out of the room to go change into his suit. With SHIELD having fallen, he didn't wear his commander uniform anymore, rather a new suit that Tony had made for him, instead. He'd never tell anyone, of course, but he thought his current suit looked and fitted the best. It was like a cool mix of all his suits so far, and he kind of loved it.

Once they were all ready – apart from Thor, who was off world with Jane, and Sam, who would meet them there from work – they all piled into one of Tony's freshly made Quinjets (none of them trusted the old ones after finding HYDRA out, because anything could have been lurking in the wiring) and were on their way.

“Looks like we got robots loose in Queens,” Clint called from the pilot's seat, throwing holographs back to them all with his free hand. “JARVIS seems to think they're linked to some guy called Doom, whoever he is.”

With no SHIELD or Fury to tell them when and where their next mission was, JARVIS was now their eyes and ears – alerting them as soon as he picked something up on CCTV cameras, or if someone tweeted or blogged something out of the ordinary. So far, with no slip-ups, he was doing a bang up job.

“Ew, why _Queens?”_ Tony whined. “It's even worse than Brooklyn, for God's sake.”

“Very funny,” Steve replied, knocking the man gently on the armoured shoulder, before turning back to the holographs. “So I'm thinking we have Hulk on point with this one to smash the robots apart. I want Hawkeye and Iron Man on support until Falcon shows up, and then I want Hawkeye with me and Widow on civilian evac. Everyone got that?”

The mumbled acknowledgements were good enough for him and as they got closer to the target site, he pulled the lever to open the door, turned to Tony, who was busy putting his helmet on, and asked, “Can I get a ride?”

“ _I live to serve,”_ Tony's voice came over his comm, dripping in sarcasm, and Steve grinned, then tossed himself casually from the Quinjet – laughing aloud as he heard the brunet mutter, “ _Son of a bitch_ ” to himself before following.

Knowing full well that the genius wouldn't let him fall too far, Steve enjoyed the sensation of free-falling while it lasted, then – as he had predicted – Tony's metallic arm caught him around the waist, and he circled his arms around the suit's neck automatically as they levelled out.

“ _You're a menace,”_ Tony told him.

“I prefer adrenaline junkie,” he replied, still grinning and breathless from the rush.

“ _Asshole.”_

“Rude.”

“ _You're idiots, and I hope a robot gets you both,”_ Clint whined into the comm as Steve watched him set the Quinjet down nearby.

He was still grinning when Tony lightly touched down a few moments later and, even though the man still had the faceplate down, he could picture quite clearly how the genius' face must be pinched in fond irritation.

“Go get 'em, Shellhead,” Steve grinned, clapping Tony on his armoured shoulder companionably one last time, before jogging over to join Natasha. When he caught up with her, she had a strange expression on her face. “What?”

“How about my friend Mindy? She was SHIELD, but I did a thorough background check – she's clean.”

Steve sighed. “Maybe don't lead with the whole  _I had to give her a background check before considering her_ next time, okay? Let's go.”

Natasha hummed, obviously unconvinced about something, but followed him down the nearest street regardless. Thank God, a lot of civilians had had the sense to get themselves out of their homes and as far away as possible already, because Doom's robots had already been through here and wreaked havoc. Homes were in burning ruins; car parts lay scattered across the bubbling asphalt.

God, Steve hoped they weren't too late to save anyone who remained.

“All right, Avengers, status?” he asked, tapping his comm. Distantly, over the rubble, he could just about make out Iron Man jetting through the air a few blocks over.

“ _Falcon just arrived,”_ Clint informed him. _“Hulk's having a great time. These things are shitty quality, man. Piece of cake.”_

“Okay,” he nodded. “Keep me updated.”

“ _Will do, Cap.”_

Without another word, he turned back to Natasha. “You take the right, I take the left?”

“Sure,” she shrugged. “Just watch out in case there are any of them lurking in the rubble.”

“I know,” he rolled his eyes. Natasha was like his mother sometimes, _honestly._ “Call if you need anything.”

“Call if _you_ need anything,” she replied, and something about the way she said it made him think she wasn't just talking about the mission.

Quickly putting that thought to the back of his mind – because, honestly, he didn't know what she was talking about – he jogged over to the shell of the first house and peered through the broken windows. It didn't  _look_ like anyone was trapped inside, but he still ducked inside to take a quick look around, just in case.

“Hello?” he called, not really expecting an answer, as he began to circle around the inside of the house. The stairs were caved in, so there was no way he was going to get upstairs that way, but, honestly, there was no car in the driveway, and no reply coming, so he thought he was pretty safe in assuming that whoever lived here had gotten out in time.

He was just about to head back outside and check the next house, content in his assumption, when he heard a strange noise. Freezing in the middle of what used to be the hall, he listened to see if it came again. It was probably nothing, of course – the integrity of the building was compromised, so there was bound to be a few moans and groans – so it didn't mean -

And then the noise came again.

Frowning, he looked up. It sounded like... well, it sounded like wheezing, and it sounded like it was coming from what remained of the floor above.

“Hello?” he called again, louder this time, as he crept over to the wreckage of the stairs. He didn't trust they were going to hold, but he was going to have to risk it and jump across the destroyed middle section, because there was obviously someone – or something – up there.

He didn't get a reply, but the wheezing did get louder, and was beginning to sound more and more like a desperately terrified cry with each passing second. Not wasting any more time, Steve tested the first couple of stairs – which, thankfully, held under his weight – then leapt over the quickly opening pit and scrabbled for purchase at the top as the last few steps gave way and disintegrated.

Looked like he was finding a different way back down, then.

After a few seconds to catch his breath, he glanced around the landing. It was obviously a family home – there were charred photos of an elderly couple and a baby boy all over the walls – but the fire damage was much more pronounced up here. The wheezing cry was coming from a room up ahead so, carefully dodging the patches of fire still ablaze, he moved forwards to the end of the corridor and pushed the door open.

Inside, everything was charred. What had once been patterned wallpaper was now blackened and peeling; the curtains were burnt and hanging limply from their frame, and the bed was -

“Oh no,” Steve breathed, stepping forwards cautiously and wafting smoke out of his face as he went.

On the bed – or what remained of it – were the charred remains of two bodies. Sadness and regret tugged at Steve's heart, because he knew that he was already too late; they were dead. Glancing around, he grabbed a still somewhat intact blanket from a pile of wood that he assumed had once been a dresser, and draped it over the bodies to spare them some dignity. He was really going to have to think about getting them out so they could be buried -

The cry came again, startling him, because – in his shock – he had almost forgotten about it. It wasn't hard to spot the source of it, once he was looking for it, because the tiny boy in the corner – covered from head to foot in soot, and coughing thickly, but  _alive –_ quickly caught his attention by raising his arms as though asking to be picked up.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve greeted softly, moving slowly across the room in case he spooked the boy. Crouching down in front of him, he realised that his pyjamas had the Avengers' symbols on them. “You okay?”

The little boy sniffed, coughed harshly into the crook of his arm, then shook his head – bottom lip quivering. “M'chest hurts.”

The kid's voice was wrecked – he'd obviously inhaled a hell of a lot of smoke – and he really couldn't have been older than three or four years old. Three years old, and quite possibly an orphan now, Steve thought distantly as he scooped the little boy up and held him close. He was tiny in Steve's arms, and shuddered for a few moments in fear, before – coughing weakly – he let out a wheezing sigh and rested his little head against Steve's shoulder.

“Let's get you out of here, little guy,” he murmured, stroking a reassuring hand through the boy's thick, curly hair. “It's okay. You're safe now.”

The wheezing continued as he carried the boy over to the window, and if there was anyone who could spot an asthma wheeze, it was him. He'd spent most of his childhood battling with it, after all. The kid was slowly getting limper in his arms, too, and he knew that time was of the essence.

“Natasha, what's your status?” he asked into the comm, peering out of the dirty window. Yeah, it looked like they were going to have to go down the trellis and hope it held.

“ _I got nothing. Street looks clear,”_ was the reply, and he sighed in relief, because at least there were no other fatalities.

“Not quite,” he replied, bouncing the little boy gently in his arms. “We have two fatalities in number six, and I've got a kid in need of medical attention.”

“ _All right, I'll head over. Barton says they've pretty much cleaned up, and the emergency services will be here any minute.”_

“Good,” Steve nodded. “See you in a minute.”

Without another word, he shifted the little boy onto one hip and, with his free hand, loosened the straps on his shoulders. “Hey, buddy?” he asked gently, patting the kid's back. “What's your name, huh? Can you remember?”

“Peter,” the boy croaked softly against his neck.

“Okay, hi, Peter,” he nodded, smiling reassuringly as he pulled his helmet off to show the boy his face. “My name's Steve. We need to get out of here, Peter, and the only way we can do that is if we climb out of the window, do you understand? I promise you I won't let you fall, sweetie, but what I'm going to do is put you on my back, so you need to hold onto my neck. Can you do that?”

Peter nodded, coughing weakly again, and Steve took that as good enough. Clipping his helmet straps around a shoulder strap and then easing the little boy up by the arms, he lifted him over his head and wedged him securely between his back and the shield. Even if the kid let go, there was no way he was going anywhere – he was basically cocooned.

“All right, Peter, here we go,” he called, then used his elbow to knock the glass out of the window. “Okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Peter whispered.

Gripping the window frame on either side, he ducked his head and hopped up onto the ledge, then – double checking that Peter was, indeed, as secure as he'd thought – he swung sideways and out onto the trellis. Pausing for a moment to make sure it took their combined weight (and breathing a little sigh of relief when it did), he quickly descended before the whole house decided to give up and cave in. The sound of sirens was steadily getting louder and, by the time he reached the ground, he could see an ambulance and fire truck – both of which were part of a long chain of emergency service vehicles – pull into the street.

With Peter still his number one priority, he gently lifted the little boy off his back and held him to his chest instead, cradling him like the baby he was. In the light of day, what little patches of skin that weren't covered in soot looked almost grey, and his little lips – which hung open in the hope of drawing fresh, precious air into his lungs – were beginning to turn blue. Steve knew, logically, that the last thing he needed to do was panic, but he really didn't think he could stand to watch this little boy die – not after seeing what had happened to the other people in the house.

“Come on, Peter,” he sang, rubbing the little boy's chest firmly as he strode over to where the ambulance was pulling up. “Come on, baby, just keep breathing. I know it's hard, but keep trying for me, buddy.”

Despite his soothing words, though, the moment a paramedic tried to take Peter away, he let out a truly heartbreaking, wheezing cry. Steve could see quite clearly how much he was hurting on the poor boy's face, and he couldn't bear to add to his anguish, so he immediately took him back and cradled him close again.

“It's okay, Peter, it's okay. Calm down, buddy,” he pleaded, swaying him gently back and forth as he turned to the paramedic. “He's inhaled a lot of smoke, but I'm pretty sure that wheeze is asthma. We need to -”

“If we can't keep him calm, he's going to do himself some damage,” the paramedic agreed. “He seems to have taken to you – bring him into the ambulance and we'll see what we can do.”

Steve nodded, still rubbing little Peter's chest to try and calm him down, and followed the paramedic into the back of the ambulance. Once inside, he sat down on the gurney and sat Peter on his lap – propping the little boy up against his chest. He was pretty limp by this point, but Steve wasn't about to let him go, so it was fine

“See, not so scary, huh?” he asked softly, taking hold of one of Peter's tiny hands in his own. “You're okay, Peter. This nice lady is going the help you breathe better.”

“You're good with him,” the paramedic replied with a smile as she hopped up into the ambulance and sat down on a stool opposite them. Still smiling down at little Peter, she went about attaching some patches to the end of some wires. “Okay, cutie pie, we're going to have to take your shirt off and see your lovely tummy so I can put some of these sticky pads on your chest, all right?”

“Noooo,” Peter whined, squirming weakly in Steve's lap. “Doooonnnn'.”

“I promise it won't hurt, Peter,” Steve told him, even as he went about pulling the kid's shirt off anyway. It wasn't like he could really protest, anyway. “It's so the lady can hear your heartbeat. That's cool, right?”

Honestly, he was a little out of his depth. Did kids Peter's age say things like  _cool?_ Hell if he knew. If the way the paramedic was trying to hide her grin was anything to go by, they probably didn't.

“What's this, huh?” she asked instead of commenting, as Steve pulled the shirt over Peter's head, and a previously unnoticed necklace jangled and came to rest against his chest.

A quick scan of the little dog tag attached to the chain showed that it was a medical tag, and that Steve had been right all along – Peter had asthma, and was three years old. His last name was Parker, too, which could probably be used to help the hospital track down any remaining family. Steve took the tag from the paramedic as she pulled it over Peter's head, and then – before he could work himself up again – she stuck the pads to Peter's chest and turned the heart rate monitor on.

“Steve?”

Steve looked up as Natasha appeared at the doors of the ambulance. “Hey. You okay?” he asked.

“Rest of the street is clear,” she replied, nodding. “Clint pulled a couple of people out of a burning house a few blocks over, but apart from that, everyone else seems to have gotten out okay.”

“Apart from those two fatalities,” he sighed, glancing down at Peter as the paramedic slipped an oxygen mask over the little boy's face. “They were already long gone by the time I found them.”

“The police and fire department are seeing to them now,” Natasha told him, then, “It's not your fault.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, because he knew that – of course he did – but it didn't make it any easier. “Are, um... are the others okay?”

“Easy mission, apparently,” she shrugged, and Steve loved her for the fact that she didn't call him out on changing the subject. “Tony seems to be under the impression that the robots are even more shoddily built that Hammer-Tech stuff, so it was fine.”

“Wobot?” Peter asked, showing the most awareness Steve had seen from the boy since he'd found him. Whatever was being pumped through that mask was obviously working miracles. “Wobot, Steeb?”

Natasha rose an eyebrow at him, a smile twitching her lips up. Honestly, Steve was a little surprised, too – he had assumed the little boy was too out of it to remember that he'd told him his name. Still, he just hugged him a little closer and rose an eyebrow right back at Natasha – daring her to say anything. She didn't.

“Yeah, buddy. You like robots?” he asked, mind drifting, inexplicably, to Tony for a moment.

“Uh-huh.”

“As stimulating as this conversation is, we should probably head back to the tower, Steve,” Natasha cut in. “You know Bruce will get sulky if we're late and have to reheat dinner.”

After battle dinners had kind of become a tradition for the Avengers. They took it in turns – because they were all exhausted after a battle – to cook for the whole team (apart from Tony and Clint, who always cheated and ordered out) and then they'd have 'family dinner time' before going their separate ways. Bruce always insisted that food never tasted as good when it was reheated, so they all made sure to be there on the dot when it was his turn to cook, because making Bruce happy had quickly become very important to all of them.

“I think we can handle it from here, if you need to go,” the paramedic told him. Despite her reassuring words, though, Steve found himself reluctant to put the little boy down for reasons he couldn't quite explain.

“Okay, Peter,” he sighed. “Let's get you laid down, huh? I have to go now -”

“Nooooo!” the little boy cried, face scrunching up immediately under his oxygen mask in displeasure. “No, no, Steeb, don' gooo!”

Steve, as it turned out, really hated it when toddlers cried when there was something he could do about it. Rotating Peter gently, he cradled the sobbing boy to his chest again and shot Natasha a  _what can you do?_ look. It really wasn't like he could leave the kid when he was so distressed – he could hurt himself even more.

“Guess I'm going to have to skip dinner tonight,” he shrugged earnestly. He felt bad about it, sure, but it was only one time. Once he got Peter settled at the hospital (and made absolutely sure that he was going to be okay), he'd head home.

“Whatever,” Natasha replied, rolling her eyes as she took a step backwards, “but you're explaining to Bruce why you missed his stew.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Steve saluted, shooting her a grin as the paramedic closed the doors. Turning back to Peter – who had calmed down considerably upon realising Steve wasn't going anywhere – he asked, “You ever been in an ambulance, buddy? The sirens are cool.”

This time, the paramedic couldn't quite hide her laugh.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve had absolutely no experience with toddlers, of course – he'd taken photographs with them back in his war bond days, but that was the absolute extent of it – but he immediately clicked with Peter. So much so, in fact, that, when they arrived at the hospital, the staff assumed he was the boy's father.

The worst (or possibly best – he was still figuring it out) part about that was that it didn't, actually, sound like the worst thing that could have happened to him. Peter was  _adorable._

By the time they'd finished checking the boy over (and they'd had to promise him that Steve was just out in the hall to get him to stop crying), Steve had handed the medical tag in to the nurses' desk, and they'd pulled up his medical file. His primary guardians, according to said file, were a Ben and May Parker, and if they were identified as the fatalities, Peter was most probably – as Steve had suspected – now an orphan.

“What will happen to him?” he asked, frowning.

“He'll stay here until he's properly recovered,” the nurse replied kindly, “but we'll have to call social services in the morning so they can start filing a report while he gets better. He'll probably be released into their care within a couple of days, as long as there are no complications.”

“So he'll go into care?” he sighed, really not liking the sound of that. No kid deserved to grow up in an orphanage.

“If they can't find another relative, or someone to foster him straight away, I'm afraid so,” the nurse nodded. “It's so sad, him losing his family at such a young age.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed softly, then grinned when he spotted a further two far more harried looking nurses pushing a bed and fluids pole down the corridor. Little Peter was propped up against some big, fluffy pillows, and looked far too pleased with himself for a kid that had a tube up his nose and in his arm. At least he was clean now.

“Steeb!” the little boy called, throwing his arms up excitedly as he spotted him. “Steeb, look!”

He showed him the bandage around his arm that was covering where the IV was attached at his wrist, and someone – another nurse, probably – had stuck a band-aid with little spiders on it to keep everything in place.

“That's great, buddy,” he replied, nodding gratefully at the nurse he had been talking to, then following the boy into a single room dutifully.

“You know, if you're not family, you really shouldn't be in here,” one of the nurses told him, but he just shot her his best, most earnest Captain America smile, and she sighed, then waved him over to a visitors chair. “Little guy must be special, huh, if he's got Captain America hovering over him?”

Steve frowned, because he'd done his fair share of hospital visits to cheer up the kids, but it  _did_ feel different this time. Kids loved him, sure, but he'd never really met one who  _needed_ him like Peter did. More than that, though, he found he was already just as attached, as well, and he knew it was a bad idea, but he really couldn't bring himself to leave the little boy by himself. He remembered when he had been a kid, sat, alone and suffering, in a hospital bed while his parents were out at work. That had been bad enough, and he knew they were still alive. What must Peter be going through? Did the little guy even understand what had happened to him? He was barely past being a baby, after all.

“Well, if you're staying, don't rile him up. What he really needs, right now, is sleep,” the nurse continued, checking Peter's IV line one last time, before turning to follow her associate out. “If I come back and find him bouncing off the walls, you're out, Mister.”

“If that happened, I think you'd probably want to keep me around to catch him,” Steve replied, grinning. “I've got fast reflexes.”

The nurse, for some reason, seemed mightily unimpressed with his sense of humour, and just rolled her eyes as she left the room. Shrugging to himself, he pulled his chair closer to the bed and got settled in.

“How're you doing, little man, huh?” he asked softly, leaning forwards to brush Peter's bangs out of his face. “Today must have been pretty scary, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Peter replied, yawning as he fiddled with the edge of his blanket. Then, frowning, he continued, “Unca Ben 'n Aunt May wun' wake up. We wuz nappin' 'n dere wuz a noise, but dey din' wake up. Are dey waked up now, Steeb?”

Logically, Steve knew the boy would ask about his family eventually, but he thought he would have more time to come up with an answer for him. He knew he should be stamping out those thoughts of the long term, too, but he really couldn't bring himself to when Peter was sat right in front of him, asking where his aunt and uncle were. What was he supposed to tell him? He didn't know what the little boy understood of death, after all.

“They, uh,” he began, then sighed – deciding to tell him the truth. “They didn't wake up, no. They're in heaven now, Peter. Do you understand?”

“Like Mama 'n Dada,” Peter replied, but he looked more frustrated than upset. “Who's gun' make pee bee 'n jay now?”

That was... such a childish answer that Steve couldn't help but laugh. What had he been thinking? Of course Peter didn't understand the true gravity of everything that had happened to him today, or how it would affect his future. He was just interested in being fed and loved.

“I don't know, buddy,” he sighed. “Why don't you take a nap, and I'll come back with one tomorrow?”

He winced, waiting for the little boy to start crying again at the thought of being left alone, but to his surprise, he just sighed and laid back again his pillows.

“Story?”

“Uh...” Steve paused, momentarily taken aback, but then shrugged, because yeah, he could do that. “Sure. Do you want a Captain America story?”

Peter immediately shook his head. Huh.

“Okay... why don't I tell you about what happened when my friend Clint found a nest of baby birds on the very edge of our roof?” he tried instead, and that seemed to immediately catch the boy's attention. “Okay, so -”

“No, Steeb,” Peter cut him off firmly. When he frowned in confusion, the little boy lifted up the corner of his blanket and looked at him expectantly. “Y'hafta get in f'stories.”

Ah. Kicking his dirty boots off and placing them neatly at the foot of the bed (force of habit), he scooted Peter over and clambered in beside him. Immediately, the little boy cuddled up against his side and, popping his thumb into his mouth, rested his head against Steve's chest like he had known him all his life. Flailing for just a second about that, Steve quickly got himself together and wrapped his arm around the kid, hugging him close.

“Better?” he asked, and Peter nodded. His little eyelids were already starting to droop. “So, my friend Clint likes to be in high places, and the roof of our home is _really_ high -”

In the end, it only took ten minutes to get Peter to sleep. Steve wasn't a professional when it came to things like this, but he thought he was doing remarkably well, considering. Moving slowly, in case he jostled the little boy and woke him up, he slowly slipped out of the bed again and tucked him in. Honestly, he didn't think he'd ever seen such an adorable sight – curled in on himself, and sucking gently on his thumb in his sleep, Peter was just too cute for words.

“Get well, buddy,” he whispered, giving in to the urge to sweep the boy's bangs out of his face before he scooped up his boots and crept out of the room.

The reception area sounded so much louder after sitting in relative quiet, and he quickly pulled on his boots before he could get in someone's way. The nurse who had warned him earlier passed by, and gave him an approving nod as she went.

“Steve? Steve!”

His head shot up in confusion, and then smiled when he spotted a rather frantic looking Tony weaving his way through the crowds. “Hey, Tony, what're you -”

The rest of his sentence was squeezed out of him in an  _oof_ as the brunet swept him up in a crushing hug. After a moment of surprise, Steve raised his arms to pat the man's back.

“Uh... you okay, Tony?” he asked, peering down at the man as he let him go again.

“Natasha just swept past and said you were at the hospital, so...” Tony trailed off, glancing down at his feet. “I'll admit I panicked a little, okay, and should have let her finish, but -”

“You thought I'd been hurt,” Steve filled in as realisation hit him. “Well, I'm fine! No harm done. I was just making sure Peter was settled before -”

“Peter?” Tony asked. “Who's Peter?”

“He's the little kid I pulled out of the shell of a house,” Steve told him earnestly. “His aunt and uncle were killed, and he started crying every time I tried to put him down, so I came with him in the ambulance.”

“Oh,” the genius nodded, and did he look... _relieved?_ “I did wonder what was going on when the main reception lady pointed me towards paediatrics. Well, that's your good deed for the day done, at least. Let's go -”

“Wait, Tony, I -” Steve grabbed the man's arm as he moved to leave, but his mind went blank before he could finish his sentence. He couldn't say what he was thinking yet – shouldn't even have been thinking it at all, honestly, because there were so many things that could go wrong – and, instead, continued, “I'm going to come back tomorrow. Do you think I could sneak a peanut butter and jelly sandwich past the nurses?”

Instead of drawing a laugh from the man like he thought that line would, Tony just looked troubled by his words.

“Steve, buddy, I know you're trying to help, but... this isn't our job,” he replied, gesturing around them. “We swoop in and save the day, but there's a reason why we don't get attached.”

“I'm not,” Steve defended, even though he realised that was a complete lie. He was already wrapped around Peter's little finger, and, worse, he couldn't even bring himself to mind.

“All I'm saying,” Tony continued, holding his hands up calmingly, “is that this isn't our responsibility. There are other people around to handle this -”

“But there aren't!” Steve snapped, and didn't even feel bad about it when Tony looked affronted. “They're trying to find a living member of his family, but it's looking more and more likely that he's alone, Tony, and he's just a _baby -”_

“And he isn't your problem,” the genius replied softly, and then held up a hand before Steve could scold him for his callousness. “That isn't me being an asshole, that's me being realistic. What do you think's going to happen? You can't _keep_ him, Steve – look at the lives we lead! It's much too dangerous for a kid!

“All that's going to come from this is heartbreak,” he continued, sighing heavily, and then slapped his public smile on, “and nobody wants to see Captain America cry, okay?”

Slowly, as Tony's words sunk in, Steve let himself deflate. He knew the man was right, of course, but that didn't make the truth any more digestible. Sure, he knew he could put Peter in danger if anyone knew how attached he was, but wasn't his care really the best place for the kid, in that case? He would protect him with his life, after all.

Wow, wait, where had  _that_ thought come from?

Before he could think too hard about where his thoughts were starting to spiral, he sighed, bowed his head, and murmured, “Let's just... let's go home, Tony.”

The genius seemed all too ready to show him out.

\---

Against his better judgement, Steve rose early the next morning with the intention of slipping out to go back to the hospital. He had been up half the night thinking over his options, and had eventually come to the decision that when Peter was well enough to leave the hospital, he would revisit his feelings on the matter, but, until then, he had promised the kid a peanut butter jelly sandwich.

As a last minute thing (because he knew from experience how boring hospitals could be) he grabbed a couple of spare sketchbooks and a box of pencils from his desk, then made his way down to the kitchen to make the sandwich.

“Going somewhere?”

He tried not to show how much Clint's voice startled him, and instead turned a firm glare on the archer. Instead of looking terrified like he should have, however, the man just grinned from his perch on top of the fridge and spooned some cereal into his mouth from the bowl he was holding.

“It's not nice to scare people like that,” Steve tried instead, striding over to the cupboards to grab his supplies.

“Kinda my job, though,” the archer shrugged, slurping the last of the milk from his bowl. “But you're avoiding my question; going somewhere?”

Steve sighed, focusing intently on the jars in front of him as he replied, “Back to the hospital.”

“Oh, okay.”

Halfway through the act of spreading jelly onto bread, Steve paused and looked up – completely taken aback by the archer's easy acceptance. Honestly, he didn't spend as much time with Clint as he did with the others – the man liked to keep to himself (and, secretly, Steve thought he felt a little like he didn't belong because of what had happened with Loki) – so his opinions always seemed to come a little out of left field, because Steve wasn't used to them.

“You... you're not going to tell me it's a bad idea?” he asked, putting the knife down so he could properly concentrate on the man. “You're not going to tell me to not get attached?”

“Somebody's got to,” Clint shrugged light-heartedly, though his eyes were dark. “Stark mentioned something about the kid probably being an orphan last night after you went to bed, and, well... I know what that's like, okay? The only thing I'm going to tell you is don't screw the kid over if you're not serious, because that'll be worse. Otherwise, y'know... just give him lots of hugs and stuff. The sketchbook's a good idea, too.”

“Um... thanks?” Steve replied, a little taken aback by the man's openness. He'd read all his team-mates' files, of course – he knew their tragic backgrounds – so, now he thought about it, there was really no wonder that Clint was anti-care home when there was a better option.

“And, hey, I can probably ward Stark off your trail if he just so happens to wander out of his workshop,” the archer shrugged again, grinning now.

“The probability of that happening is miniscule,” Steve laughed, turning back to finish off his sandwich. He knew, after their little not-quite-argument at the hospital yesterday, that the genius was sulking, and that meant that he wouldn't come out of his workshop for a few days at least.

Steve had to remember to take him something to eat when he got back from the hospital. Hell, he was already in the mood for burgers; he'd probably call in somewhere on the way back. Tony was always in a good mood after a burger, after all, so maybe he could even use it as an apology.

“Thanks, Clint,” he nodded, slipping the finished sandwich into a zip-seal bag to keep it fresh. “Call me if anything happens.”

“Yeah, you, too,” the archer replied, and allowed Steve to pat him on the back as he passed.

That man was a potential ally in this Peter thing, he decided as he got into the elevator. Right now, he could use all the allies he could get.

\---

The nurses seemed just as surprised to see him back so soon, and where it wasn't exactly commonplace, he still couldn't help but feel a little resentful over the fact. He was Captain America, for God's sake – if nothing else, his whole persona was built around the idea of the good, kind American. Surely they shouldn't have been so surprised?

He slipped into Peter's room regardless, and found the little boy humming along to the theme tune of some kid's show on TV and drinking milk from a sippy cup.

“Hey, Peter,” he smiled. “You remember me?”

The kid immediately sat up straight and grinned excitedly. “Steeb!”

“That's right,” he nodded, feeling a little relieved. A small part of him had been worried he wouldn't remember who he was. “So, did you already have breakfast, or do you still have room for -”

When he pulled the sandwich bag out of his jacket pocket, Peter's eyes bugged comically and he squealed, “Pee bee 'n jay!”

“Sure is,” he grinned, striding across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “I promised, didn't I?”

“Uh-huh,” Peter nodded, reaching out with grabby hands for the sandwich. “Pwees?”

“Here you go, buddy.”

Steve handed a neatly cut quarter over and the little boy immediately went to town on it. Admittedly, more of the filling ended up on his face than in his mouth, but his rosy little cheeks were almost splitting with the force of his smile, and he was humming happily around his mouthful, so Steve was definitely counting it as a good call.

“Good?” he asked, accepting the kid's crusts in exchange for another quarter. Peter just nodded, obviously too busy with his sandwich to waste time on words.

As he continued to watch the little boy devouring his treat, a warm, heavy feeling settled in Steve's chest. He had never felt this way around a child before – protective, and with an urge to nurture and cherish. Honestly, he'd always felt a little awkward around kids, first, because he had been too weak and sickly to be around them, and then because he'd been afraid of crushing them in his muscular arms. Peter, though? Peter wasn't scary in the slightest. Peter was adorable, and needed to be protected and loved at all costs.

“All done?” he asked, handing the little boy his sippy cup back in exchange for his last crust. “We're going to have to wipe your face, kiddo, because you look like you've come straight out of a crime scene.”

It was true – Peter had peanut butter smeared all over his hands, and red, fruity jelly all over his cheeks and lips. He looked like he'd been eating someone's brain. The boy obviously agreed, as well, because he made a vaguely distressed noise, then held out the hand that wasn't holding his cup to his mouth as though he expected Steve to do something about the mess.

Thinking on his feet, Steve got up and went into the tiny changing room-cum-bathroom to run some blue, reinforced tissue paper under the sink. Back in the room, he sat on the edge of the bed again and set about cleaning Peter up. The boy put up a bit of a fuss, but the experience was overly painless, and he certainly looked better for it afterwards.

“See, not so bad, right?” he smiled, tossing the soiled tissues onto the bedside table. Peter pouted adorably, but couldn't hold it for long – collapsing into giggles after just a few moments. Steve couldn't help but smile at that, either. “All right. How about some colouring, huh?”

Peter seemed ecstatic at the mere prospect.

\---

They coloured for most of the morning. Peter was actually remarkably good for his age; sure, he couldn't quite colour in the lines yet, but his line work was pretty damn good. Steve could guess what the kid was drawing every time, in any case.

By the time lunch was beginning to roll around, however, Peter was starting to get restless – and with good reason, too; they had been cooped up in the same room with basically nothing to do for hours. With the nurse's permission, therefore, Steve decided to take Peter on a little walk around the ward. They couldn't go too far or too fast – both because Peter wasn't the best walker yet, even though Steve held his hand to help balance him, and because they were lugging an IV pole around behind them – but Peter seemed to love every second of it. He waved adorably at any nurse or doctor that they passed, and even a couple of parents and fellow sick kids, and just generally charmed the pants off everyone they met.

By the time they were making their way back, Steve couldn't deny it anymore; he had completely fallen under Peter's spell.

There seemed to be a change in atmosphere as they arrived back at the nurses' station outside Peter's room, and Steve thought it was definitely down to the man and woman stood there in expensive looking suits. They must've been the social workers, he thought to himself.

“Ah, look, here they are now,” the nurse sighed, gesturing for Steve to bring Peter over. Reluctantly, he did as he was told, but not before scooping the boy up to rest securely in his arms. “This is John Hammond and Anna Patricks from child services, Mr Rogers. They're here to review Peter's case.”

“So the rumours are true, then,” the man – Hammond – smiled, holding out his hand for Steve to take. “Captain America's taken a special shine to you, huh, Peter?”

“Steeb?” Peter whispered, patting Steve's chest nervously as Hammond leaned forwards to scrutinise him.

“He reminds me of myself when I was a kid,” Steve replied coolly, even though that explanation wasn't even half of the truth. Subtly, he shifted Peter on his hip to move him away from Hammond. “He seems to have taken a shine to me, too, as it happens.”

“We're not trying to butt heads with you, Mr Rogers,” Patricks cut in soothingly. “We all want what's best for Peter here, after all -”

“Putting a baby into care isn't best for anyone,” Steve spat, tone a lot colder than he had originally intended, “and certainly not for Peter.”

“Then what would you suggest we do, Mr Rogers?” Hammond asked, obviously getting irritated.

“I...” Steve paused, because this was it, wasn't it? It was crunch time.

Glancing down at the placid little boy in his arms, he realised that he had made his decision when he had decided to come to the hospital with him in the first place. He hadn't been able to save his aunt and uncle, no, but... maybe he could save Peter.

“I'll adopt him,” he decided aloud, then looked up at the social workers and repeated, “I'll adopt Peter.”

He seemed to have shocked everyone silent. Even Peter was quietly sucking on his thumb.

“Mr Rogers...” Patricks started, with the air of a condescending parent, “you can't expect us to believe that you could offer Peter a safe -”

“There'd be nowhere safer,” Steve argued, because now he'd stated his intentions out loud, he was beginning to realise just how much he really wanted this. “He would be under the protection of six of the world's most capable people. Avengers Tower has one of the best security systems in the world; Peter would be completely safe, and, more than that, adored.”

“And the Hulk -”

“Is the biggest hit with kids of all of us, so don't even get me started on that. The Hulk is basically just a big kid himself.”

The social workers were beginning to sway – Steve could tell. Even better, the usually stoic nurse had a look of fierce affirmation on her face, and he felt proud just seeing it.

“You have to realise, Mr Rogers, that we can't just give Peter to you,” Patricks explained. “There's a procedure that -”

“And we'll stick to it, of course,” Steve agreed. “Any forms you need me to sign, whatever, I'll do it.”

“It's not quite that simple,” Hammond replied. “We would have to assess the place of residence before the child could move in, and – if that passes – you would get Peter for a three month probation period, in which inspections would take place, and a final decision would be made after the three months. You didn't think you'd just be able to _take_ him, did you?”

“I – no, of course not,” Steve replied, and he was really beginning to dislike Hammond. “So I need to toddler-proof the tower?”

“It would be a start, yes.”

He really needed to talk to Tony about this – hell, the whole team – because he'd effectively just pledged himself to a three year old for life, and they deserved to at least know about it before he brought the boy home (because this was happening now, whether Hammond seemed to think so or not).

It definitely wasn't going to be a fun conversation, though.

“Okay,” he nodded, taking a deep breath. “How long do I have to get ready?”

“Well, his lungs are looking better, but we're still a bit worried about his hydration levels. The doctor would like to keep him in for another couple of days for observation, but I'd say he'll be good to go after that,” the nurse said. “The little guy's a fighter, after all.”

When she looked directly at Steve while speaking those last words, he could have kissed her for her approval. Right now, he would take it wherever he could get it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“I need your help,” were the first words out of his mouth as he stepped out of the elevator and into the communal lounge. All the Avengers, minus Tony, were already gathered there, watching TV.

“I'm gonna need one of those burgers before I offer my services,” Clint replied, gesturing to the paper bag Steve was holding.

“No, these are for Tony,” he replied, holding them closer to his chest. Collectively, the others let out a knowing hum, and he frowned. “What? Why're you humming?”

“No reason,” Bruce told him, smiling earnestly. “So, you need help?”

“Desperately,” he nodded. “I think I just adopted a child.”

“You actually _did it?”_ Clint cackled. “Nat, you owe me twenty bucks.”

“Steve, you've betrayed me,” Natasha told him, sighing as she grabbed her purse from the coffee table. Steve didn't want to know why they'd had a bet on that, to be honest.

“Well, I've not adopted him officially yet,” he amended. “Social services are coming around tomorrow to _assess the home environment_ , so I need to toddler proof my floor and the communal floor before then.”

“And you are in need of our aid,” Thor nodded. “Then help we shall!”

The others seemed to agree, and Steve... was, honestly, a little surprised by their easy acceptance. “You... you're all okay with this? Peter would affect your lives, too.”

“Is this what you really want?” Bruce asked seriously. “Do you think you could be a loving, caring father to Peter?”

That made Steve pause, because... he'd never really thought about the fact that he would be raising Peter as his  _son._ How had something like that slipped his mind? The longer he thought about it, however, the more he liked the idea of somebody needing and relying on him like that. Sure, it would be hard, but Peter was more than worth it.

“Yes,” he decided. “I think I can.”

“Then that's all that matters, really, isn't it?” Clint shrugged. “It's not like the kid's going to go without anything, living here, and we can figure out the rest as we go along.”

“Thank you,” Steve whispered, suddenly overcome with a wave of gratitude. “I... really, thank you, guys.”

“You have to tell Tony, though,” Natasha smirked, and, yeah, okay, he was probably more than a little screwed.

\---

He left the rest of the team with the help of JARVIS, going through parenting articles and ordering everything and anything that Peter would need, while he reheated Tony's burgers (a bribe, now, it seemed), and reluctantly made his way down to the workshop. As he had expected, the man was already hard at work when he got there.

“Tony?” he called, gesturing for JARVIS to turn the music off.

“Oh, hey, Steve,” the genius replied, spotting him as he looked around for the source of the change in noise level. “I'm glad you're here, actually – I was just working on your suit a little. I think I can make it more fire proof.”

Steve decided to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling in his gut upon hearing Tony was glad he was there. He was beginning to suspect he actually had a thing about being needed – Sam kept telling him as much, anyway. It wasn't like it was a bad thing, though, right? Being needed was good.

“I, uh, I actually need to talk to you,” he replied, holding up the bag of burgers. “I got you lunch?”

Tony was obviously trying to act cool, but Steve knew full well how much the man loved burgers. After a moment, the brunet couldn't seem to hold back anymore, and made grabby hands for them. Smiling, Steve gladly handed them over.

“You know, if this is about getting me to eat,” the genius began, cramming half a burger in his mouth, “it is absolutely working, and you are a sneak.”

“That's not what it's about, no,” Steve shook his head, pulling up a chair to sit beside him. “But we do need to have that conversation, because you don't eat nearly enough. And no, before you start, those smoothies Dum-E makes are not food. I'm sure he tries, but I saw him put engine oil in the last one.”

“I thought it tasted a little weird,” Tony mumbled around his mouthful of burger. “What's it about, then?”

“I...” Steve thought about stalling until the brunet had eaten the whole bag of burgers – and was, therefore, too full to yell at him – but he really didn't think he could hold it in any longer. He didn't have the _time_ to stall. “I'm adopting Peter, Tony.”

“Who's P -” And then Tony's eyes went comically wide, and he started choking on the burger in his mouth. Heart hammering in his chest with anxiety, Steve reached out and patted him on the back until the food dislodged itself and he took a shaky breath. “You – you're... why are you -?”

“He doesn't have anyone else, Tony, and I can't let him go into care – I just can't,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You haven't seen his little face, sat in that big hospital bed by himself, and -”

“Yeah, but, Steve, this is a _child_ ,” Tony replied, gesturing wildly with his burger. “An actual, real human child that _needs_ things, and cries, and pukes, and -”

“I know, Tony.”

“\- and you're going to have to put him in school, and you're going to be a _father_.”

“ _Tony,”_ Steve sighed, covering the man's mouth with his hand, “I know, okay? I know this isn't a short term thing, but I need to do this, all right? He needs me, too. Look, I understand that this affects the whole team, and I know that this is your home. If you're not comfortable with this, I...” he sighed again, shrugging. “I guess I can move out. I can't expect you to -”

“What, Steve, what? _No,”_ Tony cut him off, tugging Steve's hand away from his mouth, and he looked a little stricken. “No, I'm not going to kick you out, _Jesus._ You're not going anywhere, no, I'm not having it. I just... a _baby_ , Steve.”

“I _know,_ Tony,” he laughed.

“The lives we lead, Steve, it's... it's not safe for a kid,” the brunet sighed. “What if he got hurt, or -”

“I wouldn't let that happen,” he shook his head, because _over his dead body._ “The _team_ wouldn't let that happen. We're already a family, Tony, and we all look out for each other, don't we? Peter would just be adding to that.”

“But kids are breakable,” Tony mumbled, though Steve could see he, too, was starting to sway.

“This is what I want, Tony,” he explained, resting his hand on top of one of the brunet's, “and I need your support. I'm not asking you to babysit, or anything, but just... the social workers are coming tomorrow to look at the tower, and the others are helping, but I honestly don't even know where to start.”

“Okay,” Tony sighed, cramming the last of his burger into his mouth. “I can do that.”

Steve sighed in relief, and couldn't help but pull the man in for a hug. “Thank you, Tony. God, you don't know what this means to me.”

After a moment, Tony hugged him back.

\---

Steve didn't know how they managed it (working through most of the night, most likely), but, by the following morning, they had everything ready. Tony had called his decorator immediately after their talk, and she had worked tirelessly to change the spare room on Steve's floor into a child's paradise. In the meantime, Steve and the Avengers had been out in teams to buy everything and anything a three year old could possibly want or need. Tony and Natasha had been in charge of clothes; Clint and Thor had gone out for toys and books, which left Steve shopping for furniture and Bruce shopping for food.

By the time they all reconvened in Peter's freshly decorated room (the carpet was a deep blue, and the walls were alternating red and white – something that Tony seemed to find hilarious), they were all weighed down with tonnes of stuff. Sam arrived as Clint and Thor were swearing their way through putting up the wardrobe, while everyone else was sorting books, clothes and toys into piles.

“What... the ever loving fuck is this?” Sam asked, staring around in horror from the doorway. “When JARVIS said you were all in Steve's spare room, this is definitely _not_ what I thought I was going to walk in on -”

“Steve adopted a kid, so now we have tonnes of kid shit,” Clint helpfully explained, growling at a wardrobe door that refused to stay straight enough for him to bolt into place.

“You... of course you did,” Sam sighed, giving him a distinctly fond, but no less annoyed, look. “I'm not touching that one with a ten foot pole, buddy.”

“I haven't adopted him yet,” Steve replied, focusing on the picture book in his hands. “The social workers are coming around to see whether the tower's safe enough to raise a child, and, if it is, I'll get a three month probation period to show I can care for Peter properly. After that, if I pass, we can make it a permanent thing. I'm basically just fostering him for the moment.”

“Yeah, but we all know you're going to end up adopting him,” Natasha bumped his shoulder. “You're Captain America, for God's sake. I don't think anyone would say no to you.”

“And if they do, Stark's got lawyers,” Sam added, obviously having accepted everything as easily as everyone else had as he wandered over to glance over the instructions for the kids bed Steve had bought.

God, he loved his friends.

So, yes, they worked long into the night (ordering pizza in when they got hungry), and by the time morning rolled around they were all exhausted from only having a few hours sleep, but they had done it – the whole of Steve's and the communal floors had been toddler-proofed. No cupboard had been left without safety locks, and no small or dangerous item had been left within reach.

They were ready.

“My friend, there is no need to fret,” Thor told him when he found him pacing up and down the communal lounge. “We have put great effort in preparing for the babe on such short notice, and they will be most pleased.”

“Thanks, big guy,” Steve replied, patting him on the shoulder. “This is what I want – of course it is – but it's all happening so fast, and -”

“The responsibility is great,” Thor agreed, “and all good fathers are nervous of their own shortcomings at first, but always rise to the challenge.”

Just as Steve was about to ask if Thor really thought he was going to be a good father, Tony walked into the room. The man looked wrecked; Steve, honestly, didn't know the last time he had actually slept, but he hadn't looked particularly fresh when they'd had their talk yesterday, either.

“JARVIS says the social workers just pulled up,” he announced. “They should be here any minute.”

Oh, God, this was it. Steve felt a strong sense of determination wash over him, and he found himself falling into parade rest automatically, so forced himself to calm down and stand more casually.

“I can help you show them around, if you want me to?” the genius offered, resting a hand on Steve's shoulder in support.

“No, I – thank you, Tony, but I need to do this on my own,” he replied, taking a deep breath. “Just... go about doing whatever it is you all do mid-morning, and I'll... I guess I'll tell you how it goes when it's over.”

“Okay,” Tony nodded, smiling encouragingly, before turning to Thor. “Hey, buddy, what do you feel about pancakes and bacon for breakfast?”

“Just don't make a mess of the kitchen!” Steve called.

“Don't worry – we'll go make them in the penthouse,” Tony rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling encouragingly as he led Thor over to the elevator. The timing was perfect; Hammond and Patricks stepped out of the elevator just as they got to it, and Tony nodded his head respectfully as they passed, but otherwise said nothing as they got in and were whisked out of sight.

Steve took a deep breath, then plastered a smile on his face. It was show time.

\---

Overall, he thought he did a pretty good job of selling the place. He took them around the communal floor first, starting with the lounge and then moving onto the kitchen and then games room. They seemed impressed with how well the fridge was stocked (thank you, Bruce), and the effort gone into child locking all the cupboards, but they were most impressed, by far, in JARVIS, and his potential as an aid in caring for Peter.

“Mr Stark installed cameras everywhere,” Steve explained as he led them to the elevator to take them to his floor, “and he has even more sensors, so JARVIS knows where we all are any time we're in the tower. More than that – he can scan our vitals and call any number of people if we're in distress.”

“That seems exceptional, Mr Rogers,” Patricks said, noting it down on her clipboard as they clambered into the elevator and started to descend. “But I do have one question – who would care for Peter if there were an Avengers emergency? You can't expect to leave a child in the care of an AI?”

And...  _shit._ Steve really hadn't thought of that. “Well, I, um -”

“I'm sure we could roster off one person to stay behind and care for the little tyke,” Tony replied, appearing right in front of them as the elevator doors opened out onto Steve's floor. “Or, if not, I'm sure Happy – my bodyguard – would be only too happy to watch the kid for a few hours.”

Oh God, the whole team was there, sat around his breakfast bar and eating his food. Hell, Sam even  _waved_ at him as he led the social workers out of the elevator and into the living room slash kitchenette.

“And if Mr Rogers is fatally wounded in battle?” Hammond asked, eyeing everyone cautiously. “What then?”

“Well, there are six of us, see,” Clint replied round a mouthful of pancake, gesturing to the people around him. “Seven, if you count Rhodes, but he's kind of honorary. If Steve was killed – which, y'know, super soldier, so it's unlikely – do you really think we'd let the kid go without?”

Steve was speechless. It was one thing for the team to accept Peter's place in Steve's life, but to physically offer themselves up as guardians, should he ever not come home? There were really no words to express his level of gratitude.

“We are a family,” Natasha agreed. “We take care of our own.”

Patricks noted something else down on her clipboard, and looked marginally pleased. Hammond didn't, but Steve was beginning to think that man wasn't happy about anything, so he paid it no mind.

“So, uh... you've met the team, then,” he laughed nervously. “Why don't I show you Peter's room?”

Gesturing over to a door on the far left (on which the decorator had painted Peter's name, so it was kind of hard to miss), he led them over and let them in. Honestly, he was very proud of the effort gone into this room. The walls had dried and looked immaculate, and all the furniture had been built and moved into place. Someone (again, probably Bruce) had gone about neatening everything up – the books were all in alphabetical order on the shelves, and the toys that couldn't fit anywhere else had been put in a toy box at the bottom of Peter's bed. Steve had picked out a cartoon robot bed spread, and the little red and blue bots matched perfectly with the walls and carpet. He would have loved a room like this when he was a kid.

“You... did all this in less than a day?” Patricks asked, wandering around the room.

“We, uh, haven't slept much,” he replied honestly, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Everyone did their part, though.”

“I can see that,” she nodded, straightening an Iron Man action figure that had toppled into Thor on one of the shelves. “This is very impressive, Mr Rogers.”

“We bought clothes, too,” he added, moving over to open the wardrobe. Honestly, he thought Tony and Natasha had gone a little overboard on the clothes – no toddler should need a shoe rack in the bottom of their wardrobe – but everything they had picked was of amazing quality and, Steve had to admit, absolutely adorable. “I mean, I can buy him new ones if he doesn't like these, and the same goes for any of his books and toys, and -”

“I think we're all well aware you can physically provide for the boy,” Hammond cut him off. “What I'm more interested in, Mr Rogers, is whether you can provide emotionally for him.”

“I – what do you mean?” Steve gritted out.

“You would be a single parent, correct?” the man asked. “You have your team's support, evidently, but it's statistically proven that a child growing up in a nuclear family -”

“My mother was a single parent for the vast majority of my childhood,” Steve cut in, barely suppressing a sudden wave of anger, because _how dare he?_ “She was completely alone, working every moment God sent so I had a roof over my head, and medical care, and things were _bad_ back then, but I'd say she did a pretty good job, don't you?”

He seemed to have left the man speechless, which he felt an intense sense of pride about. He knew he probably hadn't meant to offend him – though a small part of him thought that maybe he had – but Hammond was the modern man, not Steve, and even _he_ knew that there was no secret formula when it came to raising a child – just unconditional love.

“I plan to make sure that Peter never, in all his life, believes that he is unwanted or unloved. I don't have a partner, no, but I do have a family, and so will he,” he added, looking specifically at Hammond now.

“I... think we've heard and seen enough,” Patricks murmured after a few moments of awkward silence. “Your sincerity and passion is refreshing, Mr Rogers. We came here expecting... well, not expecting much, to be completely honest, but you've proven us _both -”_ she shot a glance at Hammond, “- wrong. There will be a lot of paperwork to fill out, but I think we're safe in moving onto the next stage of adoption.”

“That's, that's great news,” Steve sighed in relief, and couldn't keep himself from grinning madly. “That's so great, God, thank you!”

It was going to happen. God, he was going to be a father, and Peter was going to live with them, and... he hadn't realised quite how much he needed this until right now. He really didn't know what he would have done if the tower hadn't been approved. Yes, he had acclimatised to the present, but he was still working on the whole 'having people there for him' thing.

He really, really needed this.

“I'm going to leave this booklet with you,” Patricks continued, handing the thing over. “There's a lot to fill out and go over, but we need it done before you can bring him home tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he nodded, flicking through it. She really hadn't been kidding when she said there was a lot to fill out.

“Other than that, I'd say you're pretty much ready to go!” she smiled. “Honestly, we were dreading this, but it's actually turned out to be one of the most painless cases we've had. I tip my hat to you and your team.”

“Thank you,” Steve grinned, feeling a little giddy. “I'll show you both out?”

He gestured for them to go ahead of him, and ignored the way the team were subtly watching them with baited breath as he got them into the elevator and headed back down to the lobby. When they were safely away, he let out a deep breath, then turned back to his team – schooling his face into one of reserved resignation.

“Well?” Clint was the first to burst, throwing his fork down on the table. “Am I going to be an uncle, or what? I need to start working on my embarrassing wedding speech now, or it won't be ready by the time he's -”

“We passed,” Steve nodded, unable to keep his joy in anymore. “Peter's moving in tomorrow!”

“Congratulations, brother!” Thor bellowed, quickly followed by yells and cheers by the rest of the team. Before he knew what was happening, Natasha was pulling him in for a group hug, and they were all scrambling to get their arms around him.

Everyone but Tony.

By the time he had realised the genius wasn't in the doggy pile with them, the man had had more than enough room to escape, and he seemed to have taken his opportunity, because he wasn't anywhere in sight. Steve frowned, not totally sure why the genius would have disappeared when they were quite clearly going to be celebrating, but guessing where he had gone.

It looked like he was just going to have to speak to him later, when everyone had had a chance to calm down.

\---

Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to speak with Tony like he wanted to. The genius had, as he'd suspected, locked himself away in his workshop, and Steve spent the rest of the day celebrating with the rest of the team and getting any last minute errands sorted out, before heading over to the hospital with an overnight bag for him and Peter. He thought he might as well spend the night with the boy, seeing how he hadn't seen him all day, and he wanted to make sure this was what Peter wanted, too, before anything was finalised.

“Hey, buddy,” he grinned, peeking around the little boy's door. He was busy watching evening cartoons and drinking his milk, but gasped excitedly when he spotted him.

“Steeb!” he squealed, throwing his arms out wide for a cuddle, spilling some of his milk down himself in the process as Steve walked in and closed the door behind him.

Without any hesitation this time, because he felt more comfortable knowing that Peter was _his_ to care for, he dropped his bag at the foot of the bed and scooped the little boy up into his arms. Peter giggled excitedly, wrapping his spindly little arms around Steve's neck as he brought him down to rest against his hip.

“You miss me?” he asked, grinning, and received a milky, heartfelt kiss on the cheek for his trouble. He couldn't help but grin harder. “I guess you did. So, what're we watching?”

“Dora,” Peter replied, snuggling in close as, still cradling him in his arms, Steve propped himself up against the pillows on the bed and laid Peter out against his chest to watch. He didn't know what _Dora_ was, but there seemed to be a little girl running around with a monkey on screen, and Peter was enraptured by it, so he wasn't going to complain. In fact, he stored the information away for later – knowing, now, that he might need it.

Peter was exhausted by the time his show finished. He'd drank what remained of his milk, and had started fiddling with the drawstring of Steve's hoodie almost absent-mindedly, so, as the credits began to roll, his little eyes were beginning to droop.

“Hey, Peter?” he asked softly, knowing, if he was going to do this, it had to be now. “Do you remember what I said about your aunt and uncle, sweetheart?”

“Dere in heaven,” Peter replied, snuffling a little as he shifted around on top of Steve. “Wid Mama 'n Dada.”

“That's right,” he nodded. “And they love you very much, but, now they're in heaven, they can't take care of you. They want to, but they can't.”

“Like Mama 'n Dada,” the little boy sighed. “Wuz I bad?”

“No, goodness, no,” Steve shook his head adamantly, cradling the boy a little closer to his chest. “No, Peter, you're a good boy. Sometimes these things just happen, but it's not your fault. Do you understand?”

Peter sniffled, then rolled so he was pressed tummy to tummy with Steve and leaning up on his elbows. “Are _you_ goin' 'way, Steeb?”

His little face just looked so heartbroken, on the verge of tears, that Steve had to shift them so Peter was lying on the bed with him curled protectively around him. “No, Peter, I'm not going anywhere,” he replied softly, stroking a hand through the boy's hair. “Not if you don't want me to. That's what I wanted to talk to you about – the nice nurse who's been looking after you while I'm not here has said you can go home tomorrow. I was thinking, since your house got a little burnt in that fire, that you might like to come and live with me?”

“Will dere be pee bee 'n jay?” the little boy asked seriously, and Steve laughed softly.

“Yeah, Peter, if you want,” he nodded, then watched in wonder as the little boy reached up and – with one, tiny pointer finger – drew across his cheek in an invisible line, then up and back down his nose.

“Lub you, Steeb,” he whispered, quite out of the blue, before his eyes finally fluttered shut for the last time, and he slept.

Steve took that as his form of a go ahead.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Peter, it appeared, liked to wriggle in his sleep. The nurse had taken the IV line out of his arm earlier in the day, which gave him much more freedom to roll around wherever he wanted – in particular, all over Steve. He wasn't complaining, of course – the little boy was even more adorable when he was asleep, after all – but, by the time morning came around, Peter had managed to completely flip himself during the night, because Steve woke up to a pair of tiny feet kicking him in the face.

Grumbling softly to himself, he eased himself up and out of bed – softly righting Peter and tucking him in again – and then grabbed his bag and crept into the bathroom. He tidied himself up at the sink and quickly changed his clothes, and was just tugging his jeans on when he heard a quiet, snuffling cry from the other room. Dropping everything – except his pants, which he quickly fastened – he darted back into the room, only to find Peter sat up in bed, bottom lip trembling as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Peter, baby, what's wrong?” he asked, immediately moving across the room to scoop the little boy up when he threw his arms up for a hug. “Don't cry – you're okay.”

“I cun' find you,” he sniffled, burying his head against Steve's neck. “Y'said y'weren't goin', Steeb.”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” Steve sighed, hugging him close as a lump of guilt settled itself in the pit of his stomach. He'd thought Peter had been getting better at being away from him, but obviously he was wrong. “I was just in the bathroom, see? I just needed to change my clothes. I'm back now.”

Peter took a deep breath and let it out as a shudder, but his next breath was much steadier, until, eventually, he had calmed down again. Steve held him every step of the way, gently swaying them to and fro. He knew exactly what it felt like to wake up in a strange place with everything you know gone, and he vowed to never let Peter go through that.

“Okay, buddy, let's get you dressed, huh?” he suggested, smiling down at the boy reassuringly. “I brought you a couple of different things, so you can choose which you like best.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter nodded, and finally unlatched his little hands from Steve's shirt so he could put him back down on the bed.

“I'm just going to grab my bag from the bathroom, all right? I'll be right back,” he promised, gently smoothing some of Peter's errant curls away from his face.

Doing just as he had promised, he darted into the bathroom to grab his bag, then brought it back out and put it on the bed beside Peter. He rummaged through it for a second, then pulled out the two outfits that he had picked out for the little boy to choose from. One the one hand, there was a tiny set of jeans and a t-shirt with a cartoon dinosaur on it, and on the other there was a pair of tan chinos and a knitted plum sweater. He'd made sure that each item of clothing matched with everything else, just in case Peter liked something from one outfit and something else from another, and he'd also brought a tiny pair of Converse sneakers and an undershirt to top it off.

“I didn't know which type you wear yet,” he told the little boy, pulling out a pair of underwear and some pull-ups, “so do you think you could point me in the right direction, huh?”

Peter tapped the pull-ups, and Steve had had a feeling he'd still be at that stage, so (and he wasn't going to tell anyone this) he'd spent a few hours the afternoon before practising how to put them on using a teddy bear as his test subject. With this in mind, he quickly stripped the little boy out of his hospital gown and the diaper the staff had put him in, trading it for the pull-ups after a quick clean-up operation. That done, he went back to the issue of clothes.

“Which ones?” he asked. Peter stuck his thumb in his mouth to think – obviously very hard, if the way his little brow was furrowed – and then leaned over to grab the sweater and chinos with one hand.

The kid had taste.

Steve had been expecting a bit of a fight, because a couple of the articles Bruce had given him seemed to think kids weren't always a fan of putting clothes on, but, apart from wanting to do the pants zipper up himself, Peter was perfectly well behaved. Putting the shoes on were a little harder, but that was purely Steve's fault – he hadn't practised, and he didn't want to hurt Peter by just jamming them on. They got there in the end, though, and he thought they'd actually made a pretty good team.

“Look at you, Mister Handsome,” he grinned, steadying Peter as he decided to stand up on the bed. “Now we just have to wait for the social services people and your doctor to give you one last check-up, and we can go! What do you say we call in and get some pancakes on the way home, huh?”

“Yeah!” Peter cried, bouncing up and down excitedly.

\---

It only took an hour for Peter to be declared a clean bill of health and for Steve to finalise the paperwork with Hammond and Patricks, and then – after waving goodbye and receiving kisses from all the nurses, as well as a brand new inhaler to take home – they were away. As promised, they called in and got some pancakes on the way, and Peter whined pathetically until Steve gave in and let him eat his in the car.

By the time they got back to the tower, they were both sticky, and Peter had managed to spill some of the orange juice Steve had ordered for him down his brand new sweater, but they were both happy, and Peter was full, and that was all that mattered.

“You know, I'm going to have to clean the back seat of my car now, you little monster,” he told the boy as he leaned in to get him out of his car seat. Peter looked completely unashamed of himself. If anything, he _grinned –_ rosy cheeks caked in maple syrup and flecks of pancake that hadn't quite made it to his mouth.

Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he pulled Peter out of his seat and put him on the ground beside him so he could lock the car. Then, taking the little boy's hand, he led him slowly over to the elevator and inside. Peter seemed to be a quiet child anyway, but he also clung to Steve's leg as they began to ascend.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, stroking a hand through the boy's hair reassuringly. Peter just stuck his thumb in his mouth instead of answering. “Hey, why don't we say hello to JARVIS, huh? Hi, JARVIS.”

“ _Good morning, Captain Rogers,”_ the AI replied, and Peter immediately jumped – little eyes widening as he glanced around them. _“Welcome home, Master Peter.”_

The little boy made a confused noise around the thumb still in his mouth, and pressed tighter against Steve's leg. Taking pity on him, Steve hefted him up into his arms and cuddled him close.

“There's no need to be afraid, Peter,” he told him. “JARVIS won't hurt you. He's a robot – he lives in the walls.”

“Wobot?” Peter repeated, looking up at the ceiling. “You a wobot, JARBIS?”

“JAR _VIS,”_ Steve corrected gently.

“JARBIS.”

Well, he wasn't going to fight with the kid.

“ _In actuality, Master Peter, I am an AI, but – for all intents and purposes – yes, I am a robot.”_

Peter grinned, and even took his thumb out of his mouth for the occasion. “Wobot.”

“JARVIS is here to help, so if you're ever in trouble and you can't find anyone to help, tell JARVIS and he'll get me, okay?” he instructed, and Peter nodded sagely. “Okay, then, buddy, what do you want to see first? Your room? We should probably change you out of this sweater.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter nodded, immediately looking around as the elevator came to a stop on Steve's floor and the doors opened.

“This is where me and you are going to live,” Steve told him as they stepped out, and gently put him down so the little boy could explore on his own.

Immediately, Peter toddled over to the ceiling to floor windows on the far side of the living room slash kitchenette and planted his hands and face squarely on the glass to look out. Secretly, he was relieved that the boy didn't seem to mind heights, because they were pretty damn high up.

“You like it?” he asked, noting that he would have to clean the windows as Peter pulled away again, because he was still pretty sticky.

“Yeah!” the little boy replied, running excitedly around the space in a circle before stopping next to Steve.

They spent the rest of the morning exploring Peter's room. The little boy  _loved_ the robot theme – Steve was beginning to see a pattern there – and they spent a good couple of hours arranging all the various types of robot toys into a line on the floor. By the time they were done, Steve had counted at least twelve different Iron Man figures, and was beginning to wonder when Tony had bought them all, because it was quite clear who was responsible for it. Peter loved them, though, and that was all that mattered.

“Are you getting hungry?” Steve asked as midday rolled around, talking into the toy phone that they were currently having a conversation over.

“Playin',” Peter replied distractedly, toy phone of his own pressed to his ear while he concentrated on figuring out all the uses of the toy Widow's Sting strapped to his other wrist.

“We can play some more after you've had some lunch,” he tried, and Peter whined a little, but ultimately dropped what he was doing and looked up, obviously mightily unimpressed.

“Can I take jus' _one_ toy t'lunch?” he pleaded, already edging towards one of the little Iron Man figures still lined up in a row. “Pwees?”

“Okay,” Steve compromised, “but the plastic darts he fires stay here.”

Peter pouted, big, brown puppy-dog eyes glistening with crocodile tears, but Steve wasn't having it. He could just imagine the chaos they were already going to have, now knowing how messy the boy was when he ate, and he didn't need to add plastic darts to that. He was a bit of a pushover when it came to Peter, sure, but he wasn't  _stupid._

“Come on,” he gestured, getting to his feet. “The sooner we eat, the sooner we can come back and play.”

“Okay,” Peter sighed, scrambling to his feet with his little Iron Man in tow.

As soon as he was up, he grabbed for Steve's hand and let him lead them back across his apartment to the elevator. Honestly, Steve was a little surprised that they hadn't been bombarded with members of the team all wanting to get a look, so he decided they were going to have lunch in the communal kitchen. That fridge had all the best supplies, now the team had eaten most of his, anyway.

Peter was juggling his Iron Man figure and his thumb in his mouth with the same hand as then disembarked a few moments later, whilst simultaneously continuing to grip Steve's hand with the other. He wondered, just for a moment, if the little boy should still be sucking his thumb, but the thought left him just as quickly as it had come when they walked into the kitchen and found... the whole team, once again, sat around the table.

Except for Tony.

“Hey!” Sam called, drawing the word out, as he spotted them in the doorway. “Look who it is.”

Peter immediately shied away behind Steve's leg, but, after some gentle cajoling, he managed to get him to come out and at least wave hello. He wasn't really surprised the little boy felt a little intimidated – he had gone from, as far as Steve knew, just living with two people in his life, and now there was more than triple that.

“Stop staring, guys,” he instructed, leading Peter over to sit on the chair that someone had kindly placed a big cushion on.

“He's damn cute, Cap,” Clint decided, handing over a little piece of his cookie when Peter eyed it carefully.

“Watch your mouth around him,” Steve replied, heading over to the fridge, “and stop feeding him treats before he's had his lunch.”

“You used to be cool, man,” the archer mumbled. “Being a dad's already changed you.”

Steve winced internally, because he hadn't actually had a conversation with Peter about what he wanted to call him yet. If Peter wanted to call him Steve, that was fine – if he wanted to call him dad, that was fine, too. He just wanted  _Peter_ to get to decide.

“Do you want a peanut butter jelly sandwich, Peter?” he asked, ready to pull the supplies out and get started. Peter was too busy peering over at the broth in Bruce's bowl next to him, however. When the scientist noticed this, he smiled.

“Would you like to try some, Peter?” he asked, dunking his spoon in and offering it up to the boy. “It's chicken and sweetcorn.”

Peter made an interested noise, and took his thumb out of his mouth so Bruce could get the spoon in. Steve watched, vaguely amused, as – the second the broth hit his tongue – Peter's eyes widened in surprise, and he hummed around the spoon happily.

“There's some leftover in the pot on the stove,” Bruce advised when the little boy opened his mouth for more. “Take as much as you want.”

Steve nodded gratefully, then grabbed one of the little bowls the scientist had bought yesterday that was just the right size for Peter, and spooned some of the broth into it.

“Here you go,” he smiled, placing the bowl and a spoon in front of the little boy. “Say thank you to Bruce.”

“Fank you,” Peter mumbled, already using the spoon to clumsily shove the broth in his mouth. After a moment of discreetly watching how Bruce did it, he seemed to get the hang of using the utensil without spilling everything down his front.

“Your meal would be yet better with the addition of bread,” Thor suggested – voice much softer than Steve was used to hearing. The guy tended to... _rumble._ “The lad must build his strength, for he is a tiny thing.”

Steve wasn't too well versed in children, but even he had noticed that Peter was small. He didn't know how he fared in relation to other children his age, but he was very aware of just how breakable the boy was.

“He's a little on the short side, but I wouldn't worry about it too much,” Bruce shrugged, almost as though the man had been reading his mind. “His speech is a little basic for his age, too, but I noticed him sucking his thumb, so that might be the reason. Kids who suck a pacifier or their thumb have less opportunity to babble.”

“Is it a problem?” Steve asked, a little worried, because he _thought_ there was something a little off about Peter sucking his thumb. “Should I try to stop him?”

“I wouldn't worry about it,” the scientist went on. “Some kids continue to suck their thumb right up to being in kindergarten. It's just a way of soothing themselves. If it makes him happy – especially with his life being a little upside down right now – let him do it. He'll find another coping mechanism eventually, and, as long as we keep talking to him, he'll be fine.”

“Okay,” he nodded, sighing in relief. “As long as it isn't going to stunt his development, or something.”

“Shouldn't do,” Bruce replied, smiling down at the boy. “Would you like some bread, Peter? It's to dunk in your broth, like this.” Reaching out for the loaf in the centre of the table, Bruce tore a bit off and demonstrated how to dunk it into his broth. “Do you want to try it?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, taking a piece of bread of his own and dunking it into his broth just like Bruce had. He hummed happily again as he stuck it into his mouth, and immediately went back to tear some more for himself.

“That kid's going to give me a nosebleed,” Sam muttered from across the table. “I see how he got you under his thumb, Steve.”

“I'm not under his thumb,” Steve replied defensively, even though he knew that was a complete lie, as he turned back to get himself a bowl of the broth, too.

“He's cuter now he isn't crying and covered in dust,” Natasha admitted as he sat down next to her. “Who is your little friend, малютка?”

She gestured to the Iron Man figure on the table beside Peter's bowl, and the little boy glanced down at it, before scooping it up to hold up for her to see. “He's m'favourite.”

“Oh _really?”_ Clint grinned, turning to look at Steve with an expression he couldn't quite figure out. “Just like your Papa, huh?”

“Papa?” Peter mumbled before Steve could open his mouth to defend himself, glancing around at them all. When he spotted that Clint was looking at Steve, little boy pointed, then repeated, “Papa?”

“Only if you want me to be, Peter,” Steve replied quickly, trying to rectify the situation. He didn't want the boy to feel pressured into anything, after all. “You can call me whatever you want.”

“Does that go for the rest of us, too?” Sam grinned, so Steve gave him a _look._

Peter seemed to be thinking carefully about his options as he spooned more broth into his mouth (using the bread as his spoon, now), until – after a few moments of contemplation – he raised his head again, face set. “Papa,” he decided, and Steve couldn't help but grin.

“Papa it is, then,” he agreed.

\---

Peter settled into their lives surprisingly quickly. Of course, for the first couple of days he mainly stayed by Steve's side, content to do whatever it was he was doing so long as he had a toy or book with him. As he started warming to the other members of the team (Clint especially, which seemed to surprise everyone but Steve after his conversation with the archer), Peter became more comfortable wandering around with them, too, and even – on the fourth morning since his moving in – got himself up and managed to make it to the communal kitchen with only JARVIS's help.

Steve had felt like his heart was going to drop out of his stomach when he went into the boy's room and found he wasn't there, but soon calmed down once the AI had told him what had happened. He found Peter balanced on Thor's hip as he walked into the communal kitchen, treating the god to a rendition of Three Blind Mice while they went about making breakfast together.

It was also the first time that Tony met Peter, because the genius – looking haggard and pale from his latest stint in the workshop – was hunched in the corner, leaning possessively over the mug of coffee that was on the table in front of him. Steve felt bad for a moment, because he hadn't been taking meals down to Tony as often as he had done before Peter arrived, but he had just been so caught up in the past few days that it had completely slipped his mind. He vowed to do better from now on, because the brunet was beginning to look a little too skinny for his liking.

“Good morning!” he called, taking the seat opposite Tony. The genius gave him an exhausted smile. “How is everyone today?”

“Papa Steeb!” Peter cried excitedly, squirming in Thor's arms until he let him down gently on the floor. They'd had a few hiccups with the whole name thing over the last couple of days – sometimes Peter forgot what he was supposed to call Steve – but he was happy to let the little guy do his thing, and the more time passed, the less slip ups they seemed to have.

“Hey, baby!” he grinned as the little boy came padding over to him. He scooped him up onto his lap and Peter leaned up for a sloppy, good morning kiss. As it turned out, Peter was a very physically affectionate child, and loved to hug and kiss anyone he trusted. “You found your way to breakfast all by yourself this morning, huh?”

“JARBIS helped,” Peter replied, and Tony seemed to discreetly perk up a little from the other side of the table at that admission. “You wuz still sleepin'.”

“I know,” he agreed. “I got worried when I went to get you up and you weren't there, but good job on asking JARVIS to help.”

“Das what y'tol' me t'do,” Peter shrugged, and then glanced over at Tony while the man took a swig from his coffee. “I like JARBIS.”

“Did you know that Tony made JARVIS?” he asked, nodding in the genius' direction. Immediately, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. “He builds lots of neat things.”

“Steve, the kid really won't be interested in -”

“You build _wobots?”_ Peter gasped, eyes wide with delight as he cut Tony off. “You builded JARBIS?”

Before Steve could get a proper hold on him, the boy had slipped off his lap so he could run around the table and all but  _cling_ to Tony's leg. The genius in question looked like he was about to have a stress induced aneurysm, and glanced at Steve with pleading eyes.

“Steve, please -”

“It's okay, Tony,” he soothed. “He's just interested, is all.”

And then the brunet looked down at Peter – really  _looked_ at his rosy cheeks and puppy dog eyes – and seemed to realise Steve was right. Then, slowly, as though he was afraid Peter might bite him or something, he reached out and drew the little boy onto his lap. He still looked vaguely nauseous with anxiety, but Peter just snuggled into his awkward embrace and stared up at him wonderingly. Not even the great Tony Stark could resist those eyes.

“So, you, uh... you like robots, huh?” he asked, scratching his beard absent-mindedly.

“Uh-huh,” Peter replied immediately. “Silver ones.”

“Silver ones? Well, you should see my friend Rhodey's suit. That's a little bit like a robot.”

And, just like that, Peter and Tony became acquainted.

\---

Steve would be the first to admit that he had decided to adopt Peter a little spontaneously, and that he perhaps hadn't thought the whole idea through properly before it was all happening. He didn't regret taking the little guy in for a second, because Peter was enriching the whole team's lives in a way that he couldn't even have imagined, but... he really should have at least thought about what to tell the press.

Since DC, his identity had pretty much been made public, and, where he had been able to get about relatively easily before so long as he wore a hat to cover his face, now the whole world seemed to be able to spot him just by looking at the back of his head. He only realised this was going to be a problem, however, when it became obvious that he was going to have to take Peter out of the tower at some point before they all went insane with cabin fever.

“I could just rent the park out privately for an afternoon?” Tony suggested at the team meeting Steve had called.

“Yeah, because the Avengers hiring out a public place won't look suspicious,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes.

“I say you just go out and take your chances,” Clint shrugged, leaning over the coffee table to take one of Peter's checker pieces with his own. The little boy didn't really seem to get the game yet, but was enjoying moving the pieces around the board. “We can't keep him locked up forever, and I want to buy him his first hot-dog from a vendor.”

“If we just take him out and get caught, the press would have a field day,” Bruce sighed, leaning over to gently tap where Peter should put his next piece. “Can you imagine? With no context, they could make up any story they want. Infidelity, kidnapping – nothing's off the table with these people.”

“A press conference isn't going to be any better,” Natasha pointed out. “If we tell the world that Steve Rogers – _Captain America_ – is adopting a child, we're announcing it to all the people who might want to hurt him, too. We can't put Peter in danger like that.”

“He's going to be in danger no matter what we do,” Steve sighed, hating himself for not having thought this through before he brought Peter into their lives. “We're dangerous people, involved with other dangerous people, and we're in the public eye. I can't let that stop Peter from having a normal childhood, though. What happens when it comes to finding a school for him? What happens when he goes to college, or for his first job interview? What happens if he falls in love with someone, and all they really want is to get to me through him? I just...”

“Papa?” Peter asked, obviously sensing Steve's unrest. Dropping his checker, the little boy moved around the coffee table and lifted his arms, asking to be picked up. Without even thinking, Steve scooped him up and cradled him to his chest tightly.

He really couldn't bear the thought that he might be putting the boy in danger. Peter was an innocent child who had seen and been through much more than a child his age should ever have to, and he didn't want to make that any worse for him. Peter deserved safety and security; something that, despite his unconditional love, Steve was beginning to realise he couldn't give him – not outside the tower, at any rate.

“You know what?” Tony sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I'll get Pepper on it, okay? She'll know what to do. In the meantime, why don't you just take the squirt to the park and see what happens? For all we know, we could be blowing this out of proportion, and if I have to get a guy in to clean one more window that the pipsqueak has snotted all over looking out longingly, I'm using his college fund to pay for it.”

Clint and Thor cried out happily, the latter knocking the checker board (and coffee table) over in their haste to go get ready. Peter seemed to realise something was going on, too, because he sat up in Steve's lap and planted his little hands on his chest firmly – eyes alert with interest.

“Do you want to go to the park, Pete?” Steve asked, then grinned when the little boy looked so happy that he didn't really know what to do with his face. “I'll take that as a yes?”

“Yeah!” Peter squealed, beating Steve's chest lightly. “Pwees, pwees, pwees!”

“Go ask uncle Clint to help you pick out which outdoor games you want to take, then,” he replied, only pausing for a second when Natasha rose an eyebrow at 'uncle Clint'. “And put some shoes on, please.”

Peter squirmed out of his lap and went running as fast as his little legs would carry him after Thor and Clint, squealing for them to wait for him. With him gone, that left Tony, Natasha, Sam and Bruce with him.

“Shall we take a picnic?” he suggested as they got to their feet. “He's going to need to eat soon anyway, and there's no way we're going to be able to make him wait to go until afterwards now he's all riled up. No reason why we can't all eat together.”

“Sure,” Bruce nodded. “We can make some sandwiches and cut up some fruit and veggies.”

During their conversation – and as Sam, Bruce and Natasha made their way over to the kitchen to get started – Steve had noticed that Tony was slowly, discreetly, trying to slip away in the direction of his workshop, so he caught his arm just before he could get out of reach.

“Please come,” he may have begged a little before Tony could make up some excuse. “Please, Tony. It won't be the same without you.”

“But I have work to do, and -”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, because Tony always seemed to be working on something. “It's just... I haven't really seen you much since Peter arrived. I know I shouldn't expect you to fit your schedule around us, because he's not your responsibility, but... I miss hanging out with you. Please, Tony; just this once? I'll even make you a flask of coffee to take.”

_That_ seemed to pique the genius' interest, if nothing else had. Sighing heavily, he mumbled, “Fine, I'll come,” and Steve almost swung him off the ground with the force of his ensuing hug. When he put the man down again, he looked more than a little surprised, but his smile was real, and that was what mattered.

“Thank you, Tony,” he grinned back sincerely.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“What about that guy Joe who works at the atrium reception at the tower?” Natasha asked out of nowhere as their little group were on their way to the park.

Steve frowned, tearing his eyes away from where he had been watching Clint and Sam swinging Peter by the arms between them up ahead. “What about him?”

“Come on, work with me, Steve. I know you're not obtuse,” she replied, raising a single eyebrow, and oh.

_Oh._

“But I'm not... I'm not gay,” he replied, lowering his voice to a whisper even though they were beginning to fall behind the others anyway.

“Never said you were,” she shrugged, and was being remarkably calm, considering. “You can like both, you know.”

“But... but I don't,” Steve told her firmly, a little confused as to where this was coming from. “I like girls – _women –_ and -”

“Steve,” she cut him off gently, laying a hand on his bicep. “I'm not trying to pressure you into anything that you're not ready for, or not comfortable with, okay? All I want you to do is take a long, hard think about yourself, and then get back to me.”

He didn't understand what she was trying to tell him, but it was obviously important. With one last squeeze of his arm, she let him go again, and, flashing him an encouraging smile, jogged ahead to catch up with the others.

What  _did_ Steve want? For the longest time, it had been Peggy, even after he had been thawed. Over time, that pain seemed to be dulling, though, especially now he had seen what a great life she had led, and he was finally beginning to move on with his own life. He wanted Peter – not in the same way, of course – to love and care for, but he couldn't help but feel as though there was a small something that was still missing, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it might be.

“Papa!” Peter squealed from up ahead, snapping Steve out of his thoughts as he spotted the boy swinging from the park gate. “C'mon, Papa!”

Smiling to himself, he put those thoughts to the back of his mind and jogged to catch up with the others. They were here to make sure Peter had a good time, after all, and he was determined to make that happen above all else. His own turmoil could wait until later.

After they set up the picnic blanket in a shady spot that easily overlooked the playground, Steve set about getting Peter's lunch ready while everyone else went to play – Thor, Peter, Clint and Sam straight over to the swings, and Bruce and Natasha over to a clear stretch of grass to play with a Frisbee. Only Tony stayed with him – deciding not to help with lunch, of course – but Steve appreciated it nonetheless.

“So, how's the whole... _parent_ thing coming along, anyway?” the genius asked awkwardly, intermittently sipping from the juice box Steve had handed him. “Regretting it yet?”

“What?” he gasped, taken completely aback. “Of course not! How could you even _think_ that, Tony? Peter is... look at how much everyone loves him. _I_ sure as hell love him.”

It was true. Across the grass, all of the other Avengers were engaged in a game of soccer – each of them pretending to trip over themselves and the ball so that Peter could toddle along with it without interruption. The little boy was giggling so hard into his hands that he tripped over the ball for real, but it was no problem because Sam was right there to catch him before he hit the ground, smiling intimately down at the toddler as he made sure he was okay.

No, no, he absolutely did not regret Peter, and was about to reiterate that fact to Tony, only, when he turned back around, he realised the genius looked subtly approving of his response.

“Tony,” he murmured, realising what the man's question had really been about. “There's no need to be afraid of him, you know. He expects nothing from you but love.”

“That's the problem, Cap,” Tony sighed quietly, fiddling with his juice box.

Not for the first time since he had been defrosted, Steve looked at the man next to him and hated that he hadn't been around when he was a child to help and guide Howard. He understood, now, that the man he had known wasn't the same man that had raised Tony. That man had been cold, and distant, and even verbally abusive on occasion, and no matter how well Tony tried to hide it, he could see how much his childhood had affected him. He saw it when the genius staggered out of his workshop at four in the morning, only having stopped working because JARVIS had kicked him out; he saw it in his reckless behaviour in the field, because he didn't think his life meant as much as everyone else's; he saw it in the bottom of each glass of scotch that the man put back.

But he also saw uncompromising bravery in Tony, too. Most recently, in how he had been trying to bond with Peter. Even a blind man would have been able to see the obvious connection they had through their love of technology, particularly robots, and, slowly but surely, Tony seemed to be warming up to the boy. Steve was hoping, before too long, that they would be the best of friends, because he found himself caring very much about what Tony thought – about Tony in general, now he was thinking about it, and... oh.

_Oh._

Before he had a chance to completely freak out, Natasha swooped in out of nowhere – almost as if she had been expecting it, which... she probably had – and plonked herself down on the blanket between him and Tony with a little grunt.

“Your turn, Stark,” she told the surprised, huffy genius in a tone that meant no arguments. “Kid wants you to go down the slides with him.”

“But how am I supposed to fit -”

“We all know you wear lifts in your shoes, so get your petite behind over there and make a fellow toddler happy,” she shooed him, and, reluctantly, he went without any more complaining. Once he was out of earshot, she turned back to Steve and smiled. “So, you're a little gay for Tony.”

She didn't even phrase it as a question. Jeez, Steve was screwed.

“I just don't... how did this _happen?”_ he groaned, throwing his hands over his face as he fell backwards to lie down on the blanket. “How could you possibly have figured it out before even _I_ did?”

“Steve, everyone figured it out before you did,” she replied patiently, and tugged his hands away from his face after he was done whining into them some more. “Everyone but Tony, of course, but he's just as much of an idiot as you are.”

That was... good. At least there was that. Tony didn't know, and that was fine. Nothing had to change. Just because he'd realised he had... well, _feelings_ for the guy didn't mean he had to act on them. God, no, he wasn't going to act on them; he didn't want to ruin their friendship or, worse, make Tony hate him, and -

“Steve, breathe,” Natasha reminded him, and he did as he was told, taking a deep, shuddering breath before letting it out slowly. “I know this is a lot to take in, but it's completely okay to be feeling these things, and -”

“I know, I know,” he grumbled, because, of everything, realising he was at least a little attracted to men was the least of his worries. Currently, he was stuck on the fact that it was _Tony_ in particular – his _team-mate and best friend –_ who he was attracted to. “What am I supposed to do, Tasha? I can't – I have Peter to take care of!”

Natasha just shrugged unhelpfully. “I'm probably not the right person to go to for relationship advice,” she told him honestly. “You have to do what's best for Peter, of course, but you have to think about yourself, as well. Peter will notice if you aren't happy; kids have a habit of figuring stuff like that out.”

“I _was_ happy before I realised!” he whined, putting his hands back over his face. “Now I don't know how to feel.”

“Well, it's not like you have a set time limit to figure it out,” she replied, glancing over to the others playing across the grass. “Take your time, get used to Peter first, if you want. This doesn't have to change anything but your perspective of yourself. We certainly think no less of you.”

“Good, because I really don't want to talk about how the _others_ figured it out, either,” he mumbled, before, sighing, he sat up again and let his hands drop to his knees.

Natasha was right, of course. He wasn't about to tell her so, but he had a feeling she was nearly always right. As he looked over to the jungle gym and watched Tony gently shift Peter onto his lap at the top of the slide (with Bruce eyeing them warily from the bottom as their spotter), he couldn't help but wonder how he hadn't realised his feelings sooner, because the warmth that spread through his chest as they slid down together – Peter squealing with delight – really couldn't have been anything else.

\---

The rest of their trip continued with surprising success. Steve had a feeling that was mostly down to the fact that it was midday in the middle of the week, so most people were at school or work, and those who weren't, as it turned out, were too busy trying to keep up with their own children to really stop and notice them. For those who did... well. They just sent Thor over to be all menacing and disappointed until they put their camera or phone away again.

Lunch was a bit of a harried affair, but, to be perfectly honest, it always was. Peter decided he was only going to eat his sandwich if he could keep playing at the same time, and ended up dropping half of it when he tripped over the soccer ball again. After that little incident (and numerous tears) Steve made him sit down to finish the rest, under the condition that he'd get an ice cream if he behaved himself.

After everyone had eaten their fill, they'd gone back to playing for a little while longer – Steve joining in this time, too – until Peter started to fall asleep into his ice cream. After the little boy's head lilted forwards into the dessert for the third time, they decided it was time to go home for an afternoon nap. Steve put Peter on his shoulders for the walk home, and, as he had expected, he almost immediately fell asleep, chest draped over the back of Steve's head and head hanging down as he drooled openly into his hair.

“That's a good look on you,” Tony grinned from beside him, and Steve shoved him lightly with his elbow. “No, I'm serious. You should wear your hair flattened to your head with drool more often.”

“You're a jerk,” he mumbled, finding himself a little at a loss of what to say under the weight of his earlier revelation. “You're just jealous of my new do.”

“Yeah, jealous is definitely not the word I'm looking for right now, big guy,” the genius replied, grinning cheekily. “I'll just stand back and let you handle the bodily fluids, huh, and I'll do the neat bonding stuff.”

“Hey, I get first dibs on bonding,” Clint butted in, slipping in between them to ruin what had been fast becoming a moment. “The squirt obviously likes me best. After Steve, of course.”

Tony looked as though he was going to snap back with a witty retort – something that made Steve feel a little warm and gooey inside – but was cut off when Peter whined loudly in his sleep. They all paused, quietly moving along, but the little boy didn't seem to be waking up, thank God.

“Oh, actually, I've been meaning to give this to you for a while,” Bruce murmured, reaching into his jacket to rummage around in the pockets. After a moment, he pulled out a pacifier. “It might be better for his thumb if he has this, and then it'll be easier to wean him off it, because he'll see something being physically taken away.”

“You couldn't have given it to him before he started drooling in my hair?” Steve asked, shifting a little bit so the scientist could reach out and run the binky against Peter's lips. He must have taken it without even waking up, because Bruce came away without it.

After that, the remaining walk home was mostly uneventful. They were almost papped outside the tower, but a suspiciously well timed crackle of thunder, paired with a stony faced Thor, had the reporter running before he'd had a chance to take his photo. Peter was still asleep when they got back to the communal floor, but Steve didn't feel like taking him all the way back down to his floor, especially when the rest of the team were gathering to put a movie on, so, instead, he eased himself down into the corner of the couch and shifted Peter from his shoulders to his chest so the boy could spread out and sleep peacefully.

Plus, he really liked cuddling him.

Clint dumped a towel on his head so he could scrub the drool from it with one hand while the others shuffled about around him, squabbling quietly over which movie to watch and what snacks to make, until, finally, they settled down and asked JARVIS to start playing Big.

Honestly, Steve hadn't felt so at peace in a very long time.

\---

It had become apparent very early on that Peter had nightmares. Not every night, of course, but most of the time, and where Bruce seemed to think it was normal, especially after the trauma he had gone through, Steve couldn't help but worry. He hated waking up to the little boy's sobbing, especially when he got himself so turned around that he found him wandering around the living room looking lost, afraid, and calling out for him.

“Peter, honey, it's okay,” he murmured soothingly, slipping out of his bedroom that night after having awoken to the little boy's distressed, repeated calls.

Peter was staggering around in the living room, crying loudly and clutching that little Iron Man figure he seemed to love so much to his chest. As soon as he spotted Steve, he hiccuped, then threw his arms out, silently requesting to be picked up. Without a seconds thought, he swept across the room and scooped the little boy up, cuddling him close. He was still crying, but not nearly as loudly now he was in Steve's arms.

“Ssshhh, sshhh,” he hummed, swaying them on the spot a little to try and calm the boy. “It's okay, baby. You're okay – it was just a bad dream.”

But despite his soothing words, Peter wasn't calming down. He was getting quieter, certainly, but his breathing was ragged and his face bright red from the strain of crying. If they weren't careful, he could end up having an asthma attack – or, worse, a panic attack.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he tried, bouncing Peter gently in his arms. “I think you need to take some deep breaths, buddy, or you're going to make yourself sick. Can you do that for me?”

A little sob left Peter's mouth, but the boy nodded, hiccuping for air in the melodramatic, truly upset way that only children could achieve. After a few moments of trying, though, and with Steve helping him along by making his own breathing exaggerated, the little boy seemed to get the hang of it, and his heartbeat stopped thrumming quite so hard against Steve's chest.

“That's better, see?” he smiled, hating how useless he felt, how he couldn't even save Peter from his own mind. “Good job, buddy. You're doing so well.”

Peter's bottom lip trembled, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, but he didn't start bawling again, thank God. Steve shifted the little boy in his arms a bit so he could gently wipe the snot and tears away from his face with his free hand, and – when he was done – Peter took a deep breath, then planted his head firmly in the crook of Steve's neck, obviously exhausted.

“Do you want your binky?” he asked softly, running a reassuring hand up and down the little boy's back. He nodded. “Okay, baby, let's go get it.”

He carried Peter across the room to the kitchenette and, after a moment's though, offered him a puff of the inhaler they'd brought home, before grabbing the pacifier from the breakfast bar. The little boy reached out and met him halfway so he could put the thing in his mouth himself, and the effect was almost comical. As soon as he closed his lips around it, his eyes fluttered shut and a little sigh of relief escaped him, almost like a smoker taking their first puff of the day.

Steve knew he wouldn't sleep yet, though. Tonight had been particularly bad – he'd worked himself up too much – so, even though the exhaustion was quite evident on his smooth, babyish face, Peter wouldn't actually crash for at least another hour. Honestly, Steve was still trying to work through the logic of children, because it made absolutely no sense to him.

“Let's go get some special hot chocolate, huh?” he suggested, and Peter just nodded, nestling his head against his neck again.

Bruce had suggested early on that they find a food and drink that Peter loved to act as treat foods, so whenever he was extra good, or whenever he needed the comfort, Steve would give him a little cup of hot chocolate and a handful of jelly beans. He didn't think the beans were such a good idea so late, what with all the E-numbers and sugar, but the hot chocolate might sooth him to sleep with its warmth and creaminess.

Sweeping sweat-damp hair out of the little boy's face, he kissed his forehead and held him close as he carried him over to the elevator. Unfortunately, snacks were kept in the communal kitchen, which encouraged team bonding, so they were going to have to go there for their drink. It wasn't like Steve minded, though; he only had to have a few hours of sleep a night, anyway, so he could afford the loss. Peter, however, could not, and the sooner they got there, the sooner he would hopefully fall asleep again.

Peter was fiddling lethargically with his Iron Man figure as they stepped out of the elevator again, but the first thing that struck Steve, as they wandered through the dark communal lounge, was that the kitchen lights were on. Of course, it wasn't unusual for some of the team to be up at this time – they all had things they were dealing with, after all – but everyone usually kept to their own quarters.

Somebody else needed a snack, it seemed.

“Oh, hey, Steve,” Tony mumbled around a cookie, waving from where he sat at the table as they entered the room. Really, Steve should have known the genius would be up at 2am; he seemed to always be up, after all. “You know, you really shouldn't let your kid smoke a bowl before bed, or he won't sleep because of the munchies.”

Peter's eyes _were_ looking a little red and puffy, but that was down to all the crying he had done. Steve made a little consoling sound and kissed the boy's cheek again, unable to bear the fact that he still looked so miserable and exhausted.

“Peter had a bad dream,” he explained, rubbing the little boy's back as he moved around the table towards Tony. “We're going to have some hot chocolate as a special treat. Hold him for a minute?”

“What? Steve, no -” Tony stuttered, but, by that point, Steve had already pressed the boy into his arms. Peter was always a little clingy after a nightmare, and he was worried that he might start crying again when he pulled away, but, instead, the little boy just sighed and snuggled further into Tony's awkward embrace.

“Would you like to share some hot chocolate with us?” he asked, grinning innocently when the genius glared at him.

“You've got to stop just dropping him into my lap,” the brunet replied, even as he was adjusting Peter to sit more comfortably on his lap. “But yes, I would like some.”

Steve had thought so. Still grinning, because he'd begun to realise that he really couldn't do anything less around Tony, he turned back to the fridge to get some milk, and then, grabbing the chocolate and a pot from the cupboards (because home-made hot chocolate was best, no matter what anyone told him), he set to work.

“So, what have you been working on?” he asked once the chocolate was happily melting, nodding towards the tablet next to Tony's plate of cookies.

“Oh, I was just combing the internet, making sure nobody got wind of this little guy,” the genius replied nonchalantly. “No biggie.”

“No, that's...” Not for the first time since his revelation (and even before, now that he was starting to understand his feelings), Steve wanted to lean across the table and kiss him for his never-ending kindness. “Thank you, Tony.”

“I get that you're not ready to share, too, but I was talking with Pepper earlier, and she seemed to think that introducing the world to Peter might sway the public in our direction.” Before Steve could reply, Tony held his hand up. “I get why you might not want to do that, okay, because Peter isn't a bargaining tool, and I would never ask that of you. We just... we're not going to be able to keep him a secret forever; you understand that, right? What about when he starts school?”

“Don't you... aren't you thinking a little far in advance?” Steve asked weakly, because the truth was, he _did_ want to keep Peter a secret. Not because he was ashamed, and not, even, because he would be in danger (though that was part of it), but because he had fallen in love with their little family, and he didn't want the world involved in it. “I might not even get final custody of him. If the social workers decide I'm not -”

“Steve, Steve,” Tony cut him off, waving a hand. “Of course you're going to get custody of him. You're the greatest man I've ever known.”

Apparently the genius hadn't meant to say that, because he actually blushed a little and had to look away. But hearing him say those words caused a warm throb in Steve's chest, and he had to take a deep breath, suddenly feeling a little light-headed.

“I... thank you, Tony,” he smiled. “That really means a lot to me.”

“You're, uh... welcome,” the genius replied, idly tapping at his tablet with the hand that wasn't wrapped around Peter's middle.

Allowing the man time to get over his embarrassment, Steve turned back to the stove and turned it off, adding the last of the milk to make the concoction creamy and the right temperature. After that he grabbed a couple of mugs and Peter's sippy cup from another cupboard, then poured the mixture into them and brought them over.

“Here you go, baby,” he murmured, sweeping Peter's hair back as he placed his sippy cup on the table in front of him. The little boy seemed entranced by whatever was on Tony's tablet – sucking on his pacifier and playing with his own hair tiredly as he watched – and, if Steve wasn't mistaken, it looked like the little guy was about to fall asleep.

He continued to watch the two as he drank his own hot chocolate, and smiled when Peter only reached out to get his drink after Tony had taken a sip of his own and hummed in surprised delight. The little boy took out his binky and put it next to Tony's cookies, and then mimicked the genius' noise as he slurped his own hot chocolate down. As engaged in his work as he was, though, Tony didn't seem to notice.

Something warm and light unfurled in Steve's chest as the two continued on quietly. Tony seemed to have forgotten his fear, and was juggling Peter, his tablet, the hot chocolate and his cookies like a pro. Peter, in turn, seemed completely at ease on the brunet's lap, slumped back against his chest as he watched the older man's hands flitting across the tablet screen tiredly. Tony would make a wonderful father, Steve suddenly thought to himself, and he didn't even seem to realise. His heart ached at the mere thought.

“Dat one,” Peter murmured suddenly, snapping both Steve and Tony out of their thoughts. Lethargically, the little boy reached out and pointed to something on Tony's tablet, repeating, insistently, “Dat one.”

Tony shot Steve a quick glance, and then looked down at Peter. “Yeah? You like that colour?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, what colour would go with it?” he asked, shifting Peter in his grasp a little so he could hold the tablet in a position where they could both see. “Or just silver?”

“No...” Peter rubbed at his eyes, and then tapped something else on the tablet. “Dat one.”

“Purple?” Tony asked, grimacing a little. “Yeah, we're going to have to teach you about colour palettes, kid, because... oh. That actually looks pretty cool.”

Steve grinned when the genius held up the tablet to show him the pre-fabricated suit that Peter had just helped him with. It was a little more stream-line than the suits that Steve had seen before, but it seemed that Peter knew what he was doing, because the colours looked great.

“I wouldn't let Clint see it,” he warned, finishing the last of his hot chocolate. “He might have a field day.”

“Aw, see, just like that, your Papa ruined it,” Tony sighed down at Peter, and the little boy yawned, then giggled tiredly.

“All right, buddy, I think it's time for bed,” Steve told him, but the little boy immediately scrunched up his face in dismay and whined loudly. “No, none of that. You've already had enough fun for one night -”

“Nooooo,” Peter whined, squirming on Tony's lap until he could wrap his little arms around the surprised man's neck and cling to him. “Don' wanna.”

Tony must have seen the exhaustion on Steve's face, because he patted Peter's back awkwardly and then said, “It's okay. I guess I can put him to bed?”

“Thank you, Tony. That'd be great,” he replied, because, at this point, he wasn't willing to argue with a three year old. “Okay, let's go. Have you got your binky? And... where's Iron Man?”

“What?” Tony asked, confused.

“I dwopped 'um,” Peter replied, turning again to point under the table. Ducking down, Steve saw that, yes, the little figure was trapped between the leg of the table and one of the legs of Tony's chair, so, avoiding getting too close to Tony's crotch, because nothing good could come of that, he grabbed the toy and brought it back up to the surface.

“You have to be more careful with him, baby, or he's going to get broken,” he told him, picking specks of dust and old hair off the toy before handing it over.

When he looked up at Tony to tell the genius they were good to go, however, he found the man staring down at the toy clutched to Peter's chest like he had never seen anything like it before. Peter carried that thing around everywhere with him – surely the genius had seen it before? Hell, Steve had been under the impression that Tony had _bought_ the damn thing.

“You okay?” he asked softly, knocking the man's leg with his foot to gain his attention.

“Yeah, I just... he likes this one, huh?” the brunet replied, tentatively reaching out to take a look at the toy in more detail. “Iron Man?”

“That seems to be his favourite, yeah,” Steve replied, frowning a little in confusion. “Why shouldn't it be?”

“No, no, no reason,” Tony shook his head, taking a deep breath as he seemed to come out of some kind of trance. Smiling, he looked up at Steve. “Of course it's his favourite. Iron Man is obviously the coolest Avenger. Let's, uh... let's go, huh?”

Not even waiting for Steve to answer, the genius rose to his feet – and he could practically see the cogs turning in the man's head as he tried to reposition Peter so he wouldn't fall – but, deciding not to ask what any of that had been about, Steve just stood up and followed.

Peter was almost completely asleep again by the time they stepped out of the elevator on Steve's floor, and seemed to have no qualms about being tucked back into bed by Tony while Steve waited at the door, watching. He had never seen the genius act like this before. Sure, he was good with kids in that _I'm secretly one of you_ kind of way, but the way that he carefully positioned Peter on his bed – tucking him in just the right amount with Iron Man next to him – before gently sweeping his hair out of his face... Steve couldn't deny it anymore. He had thought he just had a crush on Tony, but that did nothing to justify the way his heart swelled at the sight of the man being so gentle with, well, his _son._

He was in love with Tony Stark.

The recognition made him want to leap forwards and sweep the man up into a loving, passionate kiss, but he knew he couldn't do that. He and Tony were friends; as far as he knew, the man was still getting over Pepper, and even if he was over her, who was to say that he saw Steve in that way? Who was to say he saw _any_ man in that way? And Steve had baggage now. Not that he saw Peter as baggage, of course, but to a man like Tony Stark, that could very well be a deal breaker.

But the way he was with Peter, when he'd forgotten to be afraid... could Steve still stand a chance? Maybe if he talked to Natasha some more, got her advice on what to do next, he could... well, what? Start a family with Tony? Grow old with him? As fast as those thoughts had come, they disappeared again, because of course he was just being stupid. Of course Tony wouldn't want to be with him like that. Of course Tony wouldn't want to play happy family with him. He was an idiot even to have thought it.

“Okay, I think we're set,” the brunet whispered, drawing Steve out of his reverie as he rose to his feet and padded over. Peering over the man's shoulder, he noted that Peter was sound asleep again.

“Thank you, Tony,” he replied quietly, and really, really meant it. The last thing he wanted to do was make the man even more uncomfortable than he obviously already was around Peter. “You didn't have to -”

“Don't worry about it,” the brunet waved away his thanks as Steve led him back into the living room. “The kid's not so bad, I guess.”

Coming from Tony, that was really the best Steve could have hoped for.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Overall, he thought the first month of Peter living with them flew by. Sure, it had been difficult in the beginning, but they had fallen into a routine that, by the time the first social services inspection rolled around, was a well-practised, well-oiled machine.

“They're just going to come and observe for a few hours,” he told the team at large on the morning of the inspection. “Maybe ask a couple of questions. Just do what you usually do – except maybe not throw him quite so high if he asks, Thor, okay? - and everything will be fine.”

They all, even Tony and Clint, agreed to be on their best behaviour, and had even bothered to actually dress themselves by the time midday came around, which was thoughtful. Steve had spent his morning giving the place a general clean-up (which was pointless, because Peter trailed after him, getting all the toys he had put away out again to play with) and picking out an outfit for Peter.

In the end, he had to change him out of the shirt that he'd decided on anyway, because the little boy managed to spill some of his mid-morning snack of raspberries and blueberries down it. Sam went off to change him while Steve tried to get the raspberry juice out of the couch, and the man came back five minutes later with Peter toddling along behind him, now wearing a Captain America t-shirt.

“Why did you put him in _that?”_ Steve despaired when he saw them (even though he secretly felt a little warm and fuzzy inside at the sight). “They're going to think he's some kind of mascot.”

“No they're not,” Sam replied, scooping the little boy up to blow a raspberry on his cheek, sending him into peals of laughter. “They're going to think he worships the ground you walk on, which, _hello.”_

Steve hummed, unconvinced, and then shooed them away to pick up Peter's toys again in his room while he finished up with the couch.

“Is the kid spilling things on my furniture again?” came Tony's voice out of nowhere a few moments later, and Steve couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as he spotted the man swanning into the room.

“It's only a little fruit juice,” he replied as the brunet peered over the back of the couch to look. “It's coming right out.”

Tony seemed to accept this, because he nodded. Then, straightening up again, he asked, “So, ready for today?”

“I think so,” he nodded. “There's no reason why it should go wrong, after all.”

“Of course not,” Tony agreed. “Everything's going to be great, Steve. There's no reason why it wouldn't be – you're a great father.”

There he was again, looking like he hadn't meant to say that out loud. Steve was beginning to really love that look of embarrassed surprise on the man's face whenever he said an inadvertently nice thing to someone. It really shouldn't have been as adorable as it was.

“Thanks, Tony,” he replied softly, reaching out to put a hand on the man's shoulder before he could chicken out.

“I mean it, though,” he continued stubbornly. “I know a bad father when I see one, and... you're definitely not one of them.”

Before he could second guess himself, Steve reached out over the sofa and drew Tony into a hug. He could get away with a hug, right? Friends hugged all the time, and that's what he and Tony were – friends. After a moment of surprise, Tony wrapped his arms around him and gingerly hugged back, so he thought he was in the clear.

“Okay, I've got, uh... things,” Tony started, rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly when he finally pulled away. God, Steve loved him. “Important things, I've... work. I'm working. I'm going to go do some work.”

“All right,” he nodded, unable to stop a stupid grin from spreading across his face. “We'll try not to disturb you.”

“Well, no, that's... it's fine. That's fine.” Seeming to realise that words were simply beyond him (and Steve had never quite been able to understand people who thought there was no more to Tony than the suave, eccentric billionaire. Tony was a _dork),_ he just sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and left.

Steve only had a few minutes to contemplate the genius' words, however, before JARVIS was announcing the arrival of the social workers. Giving up the raspberry stain as a lost cause, Steve strategically covered it with a cushion and went to meet them at the elevator, passing Sam and Peter as they made their way into the kitchen for some lunch.

Patricks stepped out of the elevator first, smiling, and was followed by an ever stoic Hammond. Steve refused to let the man's constant sour mood dampen his own spirits, however, and greeted them with a smile of his own.

“Peter's just having his lunch right now,” he explained as he led them through the communal lounge, noticing how they both looked around analytically, and over to the kitchen.

“- gotta work with me, little man. We agreed you could have Nutella sandwiches if you ate some apple slices, too,” Sam was saying as they walked in. The man looked up a little desperately from where he had been leaning over the table, when he spotted Steve. “Look, your Papa's here now. Steve, speak to your kid. He's being unreasonable.”

Peter's bottom lip was jutted out and his arms were folded tightly across his chest as he sat on his chair at the table. Usually, the little boy would eat whatever they put in front of him, and Steve couldn't quite believe that today, of all days, he had decided to be awkward. Glancing down at his Dora the Explorer plate, however, he realised what the problem was immediately.

“He doesn't like the skin on his apples,” he explained, glancing quickly at the social workers before moving over to sit opposite Peter. He picked up a slice of apple, continuing, “Look, Peter, see? You don't have to eat the skin – you can just eat the middle bits.”

He demonstrated, making sure to show the little boy the skin after he'd finished with the flesh, and, after a moment, Peter stopped pouting and grabbed a slice of apple to try the trick for himself. He held the skin up triumphantly when he was done, smile brighter than the sun.

“I'll make us a couple of sandwiches,” Sam muttered under his breath, obviously put out that he hadn't even thought about taking the skin off.

“Good boy, Peter,” Steve praised, followed by, “Thanks, Sam.”

He watched the little boy begin to eat the rest of his lunch for a while, but then the sound of a pen scratching against paper drew him out of his thoughts. Looking up, he remembered that the social workers were still there, Patricks writing something on a clipboard and Hammond accepting a cup of coffee from a wary looking Sam.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “Usually he's pretty good with food, but he doesn't like fruit with skin, and -”

“That's fine, Mr Rogers,” Patricks cut him off jovially. “We're here to observe, after all. Just go about your day and pretend we're not here.”

“Um, okay,” he replied, turning back to Peter. He had forgotten they were there after less than five minutes, so he was pretty sure he could do as she'd asked.

It was a little awkward when Patricks and Hammond sat down at the other end of the table, but, by that point, Sam had finished fixing a couple of sandwiches for himself and Steve, so he focused on his lunch and did his best to ignore their intrusive presence. He thought it was going well so far, even after Peter requested to try one of Sam's pickles and promptly sprayed it across the table in his haste to get it out of his mouth.

Steve just noted that, alongside fruit peel and ketchup, pickles were a no.

Sam helpfully cleaned up the dishes while Steve cleaned Peter's hands and face (and he was beginning to think that spreadable foods should only be kept for a special occasion), and then – after receiving a lovely, slightly damp kiss on the cheek for his trouble – he carried Peter back into the lounge, very aware of Hammond and Patricks following.

“Okay, baby,” he started, putting Peter down on the ground near the couch and crouching down to his level, “you have a couple of hours before it's nap time, so what do you want to do?”

“I wan' duh...” Peter mumbled, playing with the edge of his t-shirt as he struggled for words. “Wobots.”

“You want to play with your robots?” Steve asked, prepared to take a trip back down to their floor. “Okay, we can -”

“No,” Peter shook his head fervently, bottom lip jutting out again. “I wan'...”

“I need you to use your words for me, sweetie,” Steve told him. “Help me understand.”

The longer he struggled to describe what he meant, the more visibly upset Peter seemed to get. “I wan' duh... duh wobot game.”

Steve didn't understand what he meant. It wasn't the first time they'd miscommunicated – after all, Peter's speech really wasn't great yet – but the little boy seemed to be genuinely upset about it for the first time.

“Duh _Tony_ wobot game,” he added, frowning as he gestured wildly. “Duh touchy one.”

Then, suddenly, something clicked in Steve's mind, and he knew exactly what the little boy was talking about. “You want to go on Tony's tablet?” he asked, just to clarify.

“Uh-huh,” Peter nodded, looking relieved that he had finally been understood. “On duh wobot game.”

“Oh, no, sweetie,” Steve sighed, rubbing a hand up and down the little boy's arm. “That was Tony's _work_ , not a game. We're not allowed to touch that without him here to say it's okay.”

“Den... den ged 'um?” Peter replied hopefully. “We c'n do d'wobots t'gether.”

Steve's heart melted at the little boy's words – having not realised how much of an impact Tony had had on Peter, too – and hated that he had to let him down. “I'm sorry, baby, but Tony's working right now. Why don't we put some Transformers on, instead, and -”

“Nooooooooo,” Peter wailed loudly, taking Steve by surprise a little as his little face scrunched up and turned red with displeasure. “I wanna do duh wobots, Papa!”

“Hey,” Steve soothed a little desperately, shooting a glance at the social workers situated somewhere behind him, “none of this, Peter. We can ask to look at Tony's work later, okay?”

He had hoped to calm the little boy before he threw himself into a full blown tantrum – something he hadn't actually witnessed before – but it looked like that wasn't going to happen. He honestly didn't know why Peter had picked today, of all days, to act up, especially when he was usually such a good boy, but he was just going to have to roll with it and hope the social workers understood.

“C'mere,” he sighed, scooping Peter into his arms to try and calm him down, but the little boy just struggled and kicked, sobbing all the time, until he had to admit defeat and put him back down again.

“Hey, what's going on?” Sam asked, striding into the room. “What's up, little man -?”

But Peter just screamed at him as he, too, went as if to pick him up, and Sam immediately backed off. “He's, uh... in a bad mood, then?”

“I'm sorry about this,” Steve apologised to the room as a whole, and then tugged Peter in front of him, making the little boy stand still. “Peter, listen to me right now. You're acting very silly, and you're going to make yourself sick if you don't calm down. You can't get what you want all the time, okay, so you need to stop this right now -”

“Steve? What's wrong? JARVIS said you needed my help?”

As soon as he heard Tony's voice, Peter snatched his arm out of Steve's grip and went running. Honestly, he was so stressed that he just let the little boy go, watching as Tony's eyes widened comically as he spotted the sobbing, snotty three year old running towards him. Before the poor man could get out of the way, Peter banged into his legs and wrapped his chubby little arms around his knees, sobbing into the crook between his legs.

“Oh my God, Steve, ew, what's happening?” he whined, swaying a little on the spot with Peter's added weight attached to his legs. “Steve, there's snot on my five hundred dollar jeans -”

“I'm so sorry, Tony,” he replied as he got to his feet, and meant every word. “He wanted to help you with your suit designs again, but I told him you were working, and he got a little upset.”

“I think that's an understatement,” Sam muttered under his breath from across the room.

“He, uh... he wanted to help me?” Tony asked, ignoring Sam completely, and he had a strange look on his face as he gingerly reached down to place a hand on the top of Peter's head. “Peter, kiddo, you gotta calm down, okay? It's, uh... it's all right.”

And then a miracle happened. Obviously deciding there wasn't another option, Tony bent down and picked Peter up. It was evident that he still didn't have the faintest clue of how to hold the toddler, but instinct seemed to prevail, because he drew the little boy towards his body and held him close. After a moment, he even went so far as to pat the boy's back as he hiccuped and wrapped his pudgy arms around his neck.

“So, you, uh, you wanted to help me, huh?” the genius asked, glancing warily over at the social workers, and then at Steve, before finally deciding to move them both across the room.

“Uh-huh,” Peter sniffled.

“Well you should have just asked nicely, don't you think?” Tony continued, easing himself down onto the couch with Peter propped up on his lap. “I get it, okay? It sucks that you can't always get what you want, but life would be pretty boring if you could, right? You have to work hard for the things you want, and be nice to the people who can help you get them. Do you understand?”

Peter nodded, obviously exhausted after his little episode, and tucked his head under Tony's chin to rest.

“So, what do we say when we want something?”

“Pwees,” the little boy whispered, rubbing his sore eyes.

“That's right,” Tony nodded, reaching around Peter and into his inside pocket, where he pulled out one of his tablets. “Trust me, kid – you get a lot further in life when you say please than when you throw a tantrum, and, sadly, I know that from first-hand experience.”

And, just like that, they lapsed into a companionable silence, Peter subconsciously beginning to suck his thumb as he watched Tony tapping away. Honestly, Steve was a little speechless, too. He didn't think Tony knew what a genuinely good, loving parental figure he could be when he forgot about his daddy issues. Peter was certainly taken with him – more than any of the other Avengers, he was beginning to realise – and Steve... well. Steve thought his heart might burst out of his chest at the sight before him.

It was only a series of light coughs that had him looking away, remembering that the social workers were still there. Sam seemed to have disappeared somewhere in the interim, and he was probably going to have to apologise to the guy a little later, but, for now, he was more interested in getting their visit back on track.

“I'm sorry about that,” he apologised again quietly, stepping away from the couch and over to where Hammond and Patricks stood across the room. “He's never actually had a tantrum like that before. I can, uh, show you to my floor so you can -”

“Actually, Mr Rogers, I think we've seen enough for today,” Hammond sneered, and Steve felt his stomach plummet.

“Oh, I – are you sure?” he asked, desperately clutching at straws as the social workers moved out of the lounge and towards the elevator in the corridor beyond. “It's really no trouble -”

“You really need to stop worrying, Mr Rogers,” Patricks cut him off with a brief smile. “We understand that this is a learning process for both you and Peter, and we all know how young children can be when they don't get their way. You seem to have a strong support system around you, and that's vital at this stage. I have to say, I'm pleasantly surprised by Mr Stark's involvement today.”

Throughout Patricks' speech, Steve noticed Hammond staring at him out of the corner of his eye – staring at him like he _knew_ how he felt about Tony – and he couldn't shake the feeling that the man didn't like it. He tried to reassure himself that he was just being paranoid – that there was no way the man could know, and, even if he did, so what? - but his gut still churned a little at the prospect.

“Yeah, Tony's the best,” he heard himself saying. “He just gets a bad wrap in the papers, is all.”

“Yes, well, keep up the good work between you all, and I can't see a reason not to release Peter into your permanent care,” Patricks concluded, still smiling. “Now, you have a good day, Mr Rogers.”

“Yeah, you, too,” he replied faintly, watching as they stepped into the elevator and were lost from sight.

He slowly made his way back into the lounge, not really knowing how to feel. On the one hand, they had passed their first visit, and he was well on his way to becoming Peter's adopted father. On the other hand... he couldn't help but let Hammond's look get to him a little bit. Logically, he knew he was being silly – that, maybe, he, himself, was just starting to properly understand the true depth of his feelings, and that was scary – but he really couldn't help himself.

All of his anxiety seemed to just melt away when he caught sight of Tony and Peter on the couch, though. Tony had kicked his feet up to rest on the coffee table in front of him, and Peter was tucked into the crack formed by the brunet's arm holding him steady and the arm of the couch. The little boy was fast asleep with his thumb planted firmly in his mouth.

“It's a little early for his nap,” he fretted quietly, watching Tony jump a little as he leaned over the back of the couch. He barely suppressed the urge to run his hand through the man's hair. “I guess screaming until your face is blue will do that to you.”

“Did they penalise you for that?” Tony asked, grimacing.

“Thankfully, no,” he replied, moving around the side of the couch to sit down next to Tony. Surprisingly, the genius didn't hand Peter over as soon as he was settled next to him. “Kids throw tantrums sometimes – they understood.”

“Good,” Tony nodded, peering down at the little boy tucked into his side. “Tyke's usually a good kid."

“I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't stepped in,” Steve sighed honestly. “He's never acted like that before – I wasn't prepared -”

“It was nothing, Steve, really -”

“No, but it _was_ , Tony,” he insisted, shifting a little closer to him. “He completely overreacted when I told him no, and I was so shocked that I didn't even know how to handle the situation. You were just so... so _calm_ about the whole thing, you explained the issue so well to him, and I... well. Maybe I'm not what Peter needs, after all.”

“Steve, _no,”_ Tony hissed, dropping his tablet onto his lap. “You are _exactly_ what this kid needs, okay? You read him bedtime stories, and make sure he eats his vegetables; you give him foam beards in the tub and pretend not to spot him right away when he decides to hide behind a lampshade during hide and seek.

“You want to know how I knew what to do when he threw a fit?” the genius asked softly, not looking at him. “That's what I wish my Dad had done when I was a kid, instead of letting me scream myself to distraction, or just throwing money at me to get me out of his hair. I know Peter's not my kid, but... I guess the sentiment applies, right?”

“Tony,” Steve whispered, a little speechless. “How... how do you know all that stuff? You're always in your workshop – how could you know about the games, and the stories, and -”

Even though he still refused to look at him, Steve could see the genius' eyes go wide with a sudden terror that he didn't understand in the slightest.

“You, uh, you've reminded me that I should be working -”

“No, Tony, please -”

But the genius was already shifting Peter into Steve's arms and backing away quickly. “It's fine, Steve, I – there's some new Quinjet blueprints I have to look over, is all, and -”

He didn't even finish his sentence as he bolted for the elevator and was lost from sight.

_Shit_.

\---

He didn't see Tony for three days after that. When Peter had awoken from his nap, Steve explained to him in a more coherent manner why he couldn't behave like that, and the little boy seemed suitably chastised enough for them to move on from the whole ordeal with no hard feelings, but... yeah.

Tony disappeared into his workshop for three days.

Steve didn't even know what he had done _wrong._ He didn't understand the situation at all, actually – one moment the genius didn't even want to be in the same room as him and Peter, and the next he was pulling out all the stops to make Steve feel like he was doing a good job. He understood the genius' unease, really, he did, but there were only so many mixed messages he could take.

In the end, he didn't even manage to bring the problem up with the genius himself. At around noon on the third day of Tony's self-imposed isolation, Miss Potts came barging into the kitchen – expression deadly and heels even more so – as Steve, Peter and Natasha were having some lunch.

“He's locked himself in the workshop,” Steve informed her before she could ask, and some of her anger seemed to melt away into resignation. “He refuses to come out.”

“He's been missing meetings,” she sighed, sweeping her bangs out of her face. “Something must be wrong.”

Steve wanted to tell her about their conversation the other day, but he really didn't see how it would help. He had asked a simple question – the answer of which he was still waiting on, because JARVIS refused to help him – and Tony had bolted. Maybe the genius was upset about something else? Maybe Steve had read the situation wrong, and the man really wasn't comfortable being around Peter like he thought he was beginning to be.

“I'll go down and make sure he's not brained himself on something in a little while,” Miss Potts continued, shooting Steve a sympathetic look when he baulked at the mere thought as she took the seat opposite him. “Firstly, I've been meaning to talk to you, Captain.”

“Steve is fine, ma'am,” he replied, ignoring the look Natasha shot him.

“Only if you call me Pepper,” she countered with a smile. “But anyway – Tony said something about you needing help with Peter and the media?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied, nodding. Honestly, they hadn't taken Peter out much since that first trip to the park, and had taken to donning disguises when they did, so he had forgotten that Tony had mentioned it to Pepper. “I'd hate to put him in danger, but we can't really keep him a secret forever, can we? Especially not when it's official. Besides, he needs to play outside more; the patio garden on the fifty third floor is great, but he needs to be with children his own age, don't you think?”

“I agree,” she nodded, “and I see your problem. The thing is that anyone in the public eye who has a child – not just superheroes – is at some level of risk, simply because of the exposure. You can't let your fear of something happening to him stop you from giving him a fulfilling childhood. That being said, I can understand that you wouldn't really want reporters tailing your every move when you want to take him out for ice cream, or something -”

“Ice cream?” Peter whispered, big, brown, puppy-dog eyes turning to Steve. “Pwees, Papa?”

“Finish your cucumber sticks first, and then we'll talk,” he replied, running a hand through the little boy's hair. When he turned back to Pepper, she was smiling softly at them both. “What would you suggest? Tony seemed to think you're a bit of an expert at this.”

“Not this specific situation, thank God,” she replied, and Steve couldn't blame her, “but I've had to deal with my fair share of invasive reporters, yes. I think the best thing to do in this situation is to be honest about it, but in a way that's not going to invoke more questions. A chat show might be a good idea, or a magazine article, explaining that you're in the process of adopting Peter. We can look into getting a restraining order on the press, too, if you want.”

“That would be great,” he nodded gratefully. “Thank you so much, Pepper.”

“It's no trouble,” she replied, smiling again. “I have to say, with an adorable face like that, I'd want to keep him all to myself, too. He's a cutie pie.”

Seeming to realise they were talking about him, Peter let out a little mewl and planted his face firmly against Steve's arm, his already rosy cheeks flushing darker in embarrassment. Steve couldn't help but smile as he reached out with his other hand to stroke the back of the boy's head.

“He can be a little shy,” he explained.

“Just one of many things we all adore about him,” Natasha added, not-so-discreetly sweeping her own cucumber sticks onto Peter's plate. “We wouldn't want to see him hurt.”

“This is the best way of making sure you don't,” Pepper replied decisively. “Besides, I hardly think Tony would stand for -”

“Tony... isn't really a fan of being around Peter,” Steve cut her off, trying valiantly not to pout. “He spends most of his time in the workshop now.”

Pepper gave him a sad smile. “He's insecure, sure. It's a shame, really, because he's actually very good with children.”

“I know,” Steve nodded, sighing. “He's great when he forgets that he's supposed to be afraid, but otherwise he looks like a deer caught in headlights.”

“He'll come around,” Pepper told him firmly, flashing a strange look at Natasha, who also nodded, “and trust me, Steve, he won't let anything happen to Peter – not when it's in his power to prevent it. I'm sure he feels the same about all of the Avengers, actually; he takes things incredibly personal like that.”

“Um... okay,” he acquiesced, not really sure what to do with that information. He knew that Tony cared more than he let on, sure, but... would he really go to such extreme measures to make sure the team – and Peter, apparently – were safe?

“Anyway,” Pepper sighed, and Steve was suddenly very glad of the change in subject, “I better go and attempt to coax him out of his hole. I'll get you some more information on potential talk shows or magazines, okay, and I'll get someone to draft up a restraining order to send over to city hall.”

“Thanks again, Pepper,” he nodded as she got to her feet. “You're a life saver.”

“I do what I can,” she replied modestly, smoothing down her skirt. “I'll be in touch. Bye bye, Peter!”

“Buh-bye,” the little boy mumbled, still refusing to take his face away from Steve's arm.

“Good boy,” Steve murmured, running another hand through his hair to sooth him. “Bye, Pepper.”

Without another word, she was gone. Steve shifted Peter back into his seat and tapped his plate, and the little boy dutifully set about eating the cucumber still resting there, while he turned to Natasha.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I think you and Stark need to get your heads out of your butts.”

Not what he had been talking about, but... okay.

\---

Whatever Pepper had said to Tony seemed to have worked at least a little, because – where the genius didn't venture out of his workshop – he did retract all the lockdowns so they could at least get to him. Steve allowed the man one more day to mope (and, honestly, he was psyching himself up a little, too), before – taking Peter's hand and some lunch on a tray for them all – he led the little boy down the secret set of stairs tucked away in a corner of the communal floor.

If nothing else, Peter deserved to meet Dum-E.

“Papa?” the little boy asked as Steve guided him down the stairs.

“Yes, baby?”

“Where we goin'?”

“We're going to see Tony,” he replied, catching Peter by the arm before he managed to trip down the stairs on his little toddler legs – barely managing to keep a hold of the tray in his other hand as he did so.

He had been slow to realise that Tony was the only Avenger that Peter refused to give a familial name. Everyone else was either uncle or auntie – hell, even Pepper was an auntie now – but Tony was just Tony. He had no idea why the 'uncle' part hadn't stuck with the genius in particular, but neither Peter or Tony seemed to mind, so he wasn't going to question it. A little part of him thought he might actually go a little insane if he did, honestly.

“In duh shop?” Peter asked after Steve had righted him and they'd continued on their way.

“In the workshop, yes,” he nodded, subtly correcting the boy, because he was vaguely under the impression that Peter thought Tony worked in an actual grocery store. “We're going to see if he wants to have some lunch with us.”

“S'he makin' duh... duh wobots?”

“I guess we'll have to see, won't we?” he smiled as they came to the bottom of the stairs.

His smile only widened when Peter let out an excited squeal at his first glimpse through the ceiling-to-floor windows either side of the workshop door. Immediately, he let go of Steve's hand to go running up to the glass and press his face against it. His eyes were almost bugging out of his head.

“JARVIS, could you turn his music off before we get in there, please?” Steve requested, walking up to the door to key in his pin-code. “I don't want it to hurt Peter's ears.”

“ _Certainly, Captain.”_

“Wobots, Papa!” Peter exclaimed ecstatically, pointing at Dum-E as the bot rolled across the workshop to place something in Tony's outstretched hand.

“I know, sweetie,” he nodded, the little boy's excitement quickly becoming infectious. “Let's go say hi, huh?”

He held the door open for Peter to duck under his arm, and watched as the little boy barrelled over to Tony and Dum-E at the other end of the room. The genius must have heard him coming – Peter could be like a stampeding herd of elephants when he wanted to be – because he slowly swivelled in his chair with a reluctant smile on his face to watch him.

“So, you're the one who turned my music off, huh?” he asked the boy as he came skidding to a stop about a foot from Dum-E.

Steve edged in after him, watching a play of emotions flicker across the little boy's face. He didn't seem to know what to say or do now he was stood in front of a real-life robot – making aborted little motions with his hands as though afraid to touch – until, finally, Dum-E gave a curious little chirp, turned to Tony for confirmation, and then rolled forwards just a little to extend his claw to Peter.

“P-pwees?” he asked Tony directly, arm coming to a stop just shy of holding the bot's claw as he waited for his reply.

Tony seemed to assess him for a moment – after shooting a glance at Steve – before he came to a decision. “Dum-E, this is Peter. Unlike me, he's at an age where heaps of scrap like you are still considered exciting, so don't spoil that for him, okay? Peter,” he turned to the little boy, voice softer now, “would you and Dum-E like to do some drawing? He's not very good at colouring in the lines, but I'm sure you could help, right?”

Peter nodded enthusiastically, little legs shaking with the effort not to move in his haste to go play with his new friend. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, m'good at colourin' in duh lines.”

“Okay then,” Tony nodded, swivelling in his chair again to grab some plain paper out of his printer and a handful of different coloured pencils from a pot by his numerous coffee mugs. Hell, Steve was sure the pencil mug used to have coffee in it, too. “Here you go. Have at it.”

Peter took the supplies from him like they were made of gold, grinning from ear to ear, and finally reached up to take Dum-E's claw so he could lead him over to the couch at the other side of the workshop. He was already babbling away to the little bot like they had known each other for years, and Dum-E was as dutifully gentle with the little boy as he possibly could be.

Steve was pretty sure it wasn't normal for his chest to feel like it did.

It also cemented in him an even further sense of confusion. Tony hadn't even blinked when Peter had come running up to him – it looked like he had actually been expecting it – and he hadn't even warned the little boy to not touch any of his precious, breakable technology. Why, then, had he run off the other day?

“Don't think I don't know what you're trying to pull,” the genius muttered as Steve brought the tray of food over to him. “Buttering me up with pastrami sandwiches and adorable kids is a low blow.”

“I just don't know what I'm supposed to be apologising for, so I covered all my bases,” Steve replied evenly, looking determinedly at the juice box in his hand. Next to him, Tony sighed.

“You didn't do anything wrong,” the genius told him quietly, and when Steve looked up, he was watching Dum-E and Peter colouring happily together. “I overreacted, and... well. Sorry, I guess.”

“Why were you so upset in the first place?” Steve asked. “One minute we were having a nice conversation, and the next you just bolted. I only asked a question -”

“I've been watching you and Peter doing things together,” Tony blurted, covering his eyes with a hand as he began to flush. Steve, honestly, didn't really know what to say to that.

“You, uh...”

“He just reminds me of myself when I was a kid, okay?” the genius sighed, defeated. “He's smart and adorable, and – for the most part – well behaved, and all he asks for is love, and, well... that's what you give him.”

He didn't need to finish the rest of his little speech for Steve to understand what he was getting at. He felt sick. For not the first time since he had moved into the tower, he felt the need to go back in time and roundhouse Howard Stark in the face.

“So, yeah. Sometimes I have JARVIS pull up a live feed so I can watch how my childhood could have played out if I had someone around who loved me as much as you love Peter,” Tony whispered, staring down at the now clasped hands in his lap. The genius' eyes looked suspiciously wet.

“Tony,” Steve breathed, not sure whether touching the man would be a good idea, because he _desperately_ wanted to hold him tightly. “I -”

“And if all I can do to make him happy is letting him watch me work, or play with Dum-E, then... I can do that.”

“That's not why he likes spending time with you, Tony,” he replied adamantly, throwing caution to the wind as he grabbed the brunet's arm. “He likes spending time with you because you treat him like your equal. He wants your love, Tony, not your things.”

“But I... I can't do that,” Tony whispered, still refusing to look at him. “Steve, I -”

“You're already doing it,” Steve told him. “Whenever you speak to him, or pick him up, or let him sit on your lap to watch you work, he knows, Tony. Why do you think he keeps coming back for more? Because he loves you, too.”

Finally, Tony looked up at him. His eyes were definitely wet around the edges – his eyelashes curling with the dampness – and he looked a little like some of the men Steve had seen being carried back from the front line back in the day.

“You don't have to do or be anything but yourself,” he whispered, moving his hand up from Tony's arm to his shoulder. “Believe it or not, we actually like you just the way you are.”

Maybe he was saying too much – it certainly wasn't lost on him that there were parallels between Peter's expectations and his own – but he really couldn't find it in himself to care when Tony flung himself forwards and let Steve hug him close to his chest. He allowed himself a moment – just enjoying Tony's warmth and weight in his arms, and his wonderful, distinct smell in his nose – before he finally, begrudgingly, let the brunet go again.

“Now,” he stated, taking a deep breath to get them both past their little moment, “eat your lunch – _all_ of it – and Peter and I will stay over on the couch so you can work. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tony nodded, discreetly wiping his eyes on his sleeve as he reached out to tug his sandwich and juice towards him. “Thanks, Steve.”

“You're welcome,” he replied, smiling softly as he got to his feet.

Without another word, he grabbed his and Peter's lunch and headed over to the couch. The little boy was still colouring happily with Dum-E's help, so he placed a plate in front of them and tapped it to get Peter's attention.

“Eat your lunch, please,” he requested, tucking into his own. “Then we can go back to colouring, okay?”

“Can duh wobot hab some?” Peter asked, taking a quarter of his sandwich to stuff into his mouth.

“No, honey, Dum-E doesn't eat people food,” he replied patiently. “Besides, I think he wants you to have it.”

As they spoke, Dum-E began fiddling with the little straw on the side of the juice box that Steve had put on the table. It took a few tries, but the little bot managed to get the straw out of the packaging and into the top of the carton. It wasn't through the tinfoil hole, of course, but it did the trick.

“Fank you,” Peter said as Dum-E held the juice out to him, stuffing the rest of his quarter into his mouth before he took a drink.

When Steve glanced across the room to make sure Tony was eating his lunch, too, he found the genius discreetly watching Peter's interactions with both himself and Dum-E. When he noticed Steve watching him, he ducked his head and went back to his own sandwich, as though he was a little boy being caught doing something particularly naughty.

Steve thought about asking the man to join them on the couch to finish his lunch, because he looked a little left out over there by himself, but Tony had crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and had turned the other way to get back to work before he could catch his attention. It broke his heart a little that the brunet didn't think he was welcome to sit with them, and he vowed to work harder to make sure Tony knew he was welcome – wanted, even, even if it was just as a friend.

“M'finished,” Peter mumbled around the last of his sandwich, taking his juice box back from Dum-E to help wash it down.

“Good job,” Steve praised, leaning over to kiss the crown of the boy's head as he moved their empty plates out of the way. “Now you can draw as much as you want.”

“You doin' it too, Papa?” the little boy asked, holding up a clean piece of paper for him.

Never one to turn down the opportunity to draw, Steve took the sheet of paper with a smile and smoothed it out in front of him. It had been a while since he'd properly sat down to sketch – especially since Peter had come along – and he found himself a little at a loss. Watching Peter quietly colouring away, shifting his arm around Dum-E, who was also attempting to help, he began to doodle; shiny eyes, curly hair, a round, pudgy face – Peter was a perfect study.

He really didn't have enough pictures and photographs of the little boy, he decided as he began shading the face he had drawn. Peter wasn't going to be a baby forever, after all, and nobody knew better than Steve how important it was to capture memories in a solid, tangible form.

“Hey, Peter, look! What do you think?” he asked around a half hour later, lifting the finished drawing up to... Peter was gone.

Springing to his feet before his brain had fully caught up to speed, he was prepared to scream his head off, before spotting Peter across the room. As quickly as the panic had come, it disappeared again, leaving his skin feeling a little too tight around his bones. But the sight of Peter – now perched on Tony's lap, thumb in his mouth – as they both looked up at a holographic screen in front of them was the most soothing balm in the world, he was beginning to find.

“- just watching has to be a little boring, right?” Tony was saying to the little boy in a quiet, intimate voice. “How about... would you like to start a new project – something we can do together?”

Peter nodded enthusiastically, even going so far as to take his precious thumb out of his mouth so he could squeal, “Yeah, uh-huh!”

Tony obviously tried to hide his relieved smile, but didn't quite manage it. He did look a little surprised when Peter suddenly shuffled on his lap so he was kneeling – a hand on each of the brunet's shoulders as they came to face. Steve physically gasped aloud in joy when the little boy leaned forwards and planted a sloppy kiss on the genius' slack lips. Without a word – but with a grin brighter than the sun – Peter then turned back to snuggle into his original position on Tony's lap.

“Um...” Tony seemed a little speechless. “Okay, that's... yeah, let's just, uh... let's get started. JARVIS? Start up a new project for us.”

“ _Certainly, sir.”_

“Now – and, if the way Pepper goes on about it is anything to go by, this is important – when we're working on potentially dangerous projects, we have to be safe, so -” Tony reached out, free hand automatically going to support Peter around the tummy, and rummaged around for a moment. Finally, he tugged out a pair of safety glasses with the label still attached. “Here we are. Put these on, okay? When we're working on our project, you have to have your safety glasses on, deal?”

He helped the little boy slide them on, and they were hilariously big, but possibly the most adorable thing Steve had ever seen. “Uh-huh.”

“Okay, then we can get started. What do you wanna make?”

 


	7. Chapter 7

They were working on some kind of robot spider. At least, that was what Steve  _thought_ they were doing; there was really no way to tell with the way Tony was babbling techno jargon. Peter was hanging onto the genius' every word, though, so that was something. Steve tried not to interrupt them too much when they were both so obviously happy, but he couldn't help but look up from his sketching every once in a while to watch them bonding. Eventually, he gave up trying to hide the fact he was watching them and went about starting to sketch the adorable scene in front of him.

“- so do you want it to look more like a black widow or a tarantula? Because aesthetics are important, and... are you even listening to me?”

Steve looked up – having been adding the finishing touches to his sketch – and smiled warmly at seeing Tony peering down at Peter. Somewhere along the line, the little boy had fallen asleep in the genius' arms, because he was slumped back against Tony's chest with his thumb in his mouth.

“Oh,” Tony murmured, frowning as he finally turned to Steve. “Was I boring him? I thought we were having a good time, but -”

“Trust me, Tony, he was definitely having a good time,” Steve reassured him quickly. “It's just his nap time, is all. Past his nap time, actually. He wouldn't have held out so long if he wasn't interested.”

“Oh, okay,” the brunet nodded, absent-mindedly sweeping Peter's hair away from his face. “Then I'm sorry for throwing his schedule out. Kids need schedules, right?”

“It shouldn't affect him too badly,” Steve shrugged, getting to his feet. “He might be up a little later this evening, but, if anything, that should mean that he'll sleep in later tomorrow morning. You've actually done me a favour.”

Striding across the room, he leaned down to scoop Peter out of Tony's arms – intending to lie him down on the couch – but, as soon as he attempted to haul the little boy up into his arms, he let out a truly pitiful whine in his sleep and clung to the front of Tony's shirt.

“Um...” the brunet mumbled, looking up at Steve with a confused little crinkle between his brow. “I can do it, I guess.”

“Thanks, Tony. You can just put him -”

“JARVIS, save and close everything down for now,” Tony called over him, grinning as he got to his feet with Peter cradled in his arms as though he was born to fit there. “I've been working hard over the past couple of days; I think I deserve a break.”

A warm, content feeling settled into Steve's chest as he stepped back to follow Tony to the door and up the stairs. The genius was obviously over his embarrassment if he was willing to come out of his workshop again, and Steve couldn't help but feel relieved by that. The thought of Tony locking himself away, not talking to anyone for days on end, made him feel a little empty inside.

“You know, if your project with Peter is taking up time that you should be spending working, I'm sure he'd understand,” he couldn't help but fret anyway.

“No, no,” Tony shook his head quickly. “There's nothing that needs my attention that badly right now. You... do you not want me to -?”

“Of course I do,” Steve amended immediately, dropping a hand down onto the man's shoulder. “Tony, you're my... my best friend. Nothing makes me happier than seeing you bonding with Peter, but I don't want your work to suffer because of that.”

As they came to the top of the stairs and into the corridor of the communal floor, Tony stopped completely and looked down at the sleeping boy in his arms.

“My dad used to make excuses like that all the time,” he whispered, and Steve came to a sudden stop, too. “He used to say he was too busy working; that was why he couldn't come to my science fairs and graduations.” Taking a deep breath, the genius looked up at Steve. “I will _never_ be too busy – not for any of you.”

Steve didn't know what to say. On the one hand, a part of him was thrilled that Tony was prepared to open up to him like this, but on the other hand... he had known that Tony hadn't had the best upbringing, but he had a feeling they were only, even now, beginning to skim the surface of the true depth of Howard Stark's abuse.

It made him feel physically ill that anyone – never mind someone he had known – could treat a child like that.

“Do you... want to watch a movie?” the genius asked, obviously trying to dissolve the tension that had fallen across the corridor.

“Sure,” Steve nodded, gesturing for the man to lead the way. He was pretty sure, at this point, that he was physically incapable of denying Tony what he wanted.

He expected the man to give Peter back to him once they were settled on the couch, but, instead, the brunet just shifted the little boy into a sideways position so he could cradle him to his chest. There really was nothing more attractive than seeing him being so openly gentle and loving towards Peter, Steve decided as the lights dimmed and the movie started.

Tony had called out the title of the movie to JARVIS, of course, but Steve had been so invested in watching the man's hand running softly down Peter's cheek as the boy snuffled in his sleep that he really couldn't recall what on Earth they were watching. Already giving it up as a lost cause, he settled in to discreetly watch the genius, instead.

Tony really was a beautiful man. Steve had always thought so, even before he had recognised his feelings. There was something about him that was just so charming, and, no, it wasn't his public persona. Tony Stark – Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist – was actually a bit of an asshole, from what Steve had seen; _Steve's_ Tony, who staggered into the kitchen in the middle of the day on the hunt for coffee like a zombie was actually a bit of an adorable dork. Steve loved that Tony, the real Tony, who stuttered over compliments and would do anything to make the people he loved happy. Steve felt honoured to count himself a member of that small minority, no matter what form their relationship took.

Quite suddenly, he found himself very much aware of just how physically close they were. Hell, their shoulders brushed every time one of them moved. If he were just brave enough, he could reach out and lay a hand on the brunet's thigh.

He wouldn't, though.

Glancing back at the screen in front of them, he realised they were watching some kind of romantic comedy, and found it a bit of an unusual choice for Tony to make. He'd always taken him to be more of an action kind of guy, after all. When he glanced back towards the genius, fully intending to ask why he had chosen this particular movie, he stopped short when he realised that Tony, this time, had been watching him. They both looked away when they realised the other had caught them, and Steve's heart was hammering in his chest as the same tension as before settled over them.

Before he could second guess himself, he lifted his arm and laid it across the back of the couch – going for around Tony's shoulders, but chickening out at the last second. The brunet still froze in place next to him anyway, and Steve watched with bated breath as, slowly, so slowly, Tony turned his head to look at him again.

Something was shifting rapidly between them; he could see it in Tony's eyes as they flicked from Steve's own, to his lips, and back again. He could see it in the way the other man relaxed back against the couch again, in how he leaned ever-so-slightly into Steve's side.

“Tony,” he whispered, but the genius just shook his head, signalling for silence. Steve dared to lean in a little, then, and was rewarded with Tony cautiously mirroring the action.

Oh God, this was it. The moment that Steve had been waiting for – validation that his feelings were reciprocated – and all they had to do was close the miniscule gap to -

“Papa?”

With a single word, their moment was over.

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath, refusing to accept that this was actually happening, and then reluctantly looked down. Peter was staring up at him with groggy, half lidded eyes, his pudgy little arms coming up in askance to be held.

“You're awake, huh, buddy?” he tried to smile, studiously avoiding Tony's gaze as he withdrew his arm from the sofa to reach out and scoop Peter up. “You are just the warmest, cuddliest teddy bear when you've just woken up.”

“M'not,” Peter mumbled, obviously still half asleep as Steve rested him against his chest to snuggle. He hummed as he kissed the little boy's rosy cheek, and tried not to cry because he couldn't do the same with Tony.

“I should go,” the genius murmured, already getting to his feet. “I, um -”

“No, Tony, please,” Steve all but begged, reaching out in a last ditch attempt to get the genius to stay. “You don't have to -”

“No, Steve, I... I do,” he replied, swallowing thickly as he backed away. “We shouldn't have... I'm sorry.”

Steve felt like the air had been physically knocked out of him, and couldn't think of a single thing to say. Without another word, he watched the genius retreat out of the room, and then sighed, resting his nose in Peter's bangs in the hope that the smell might calm him a little.

For the very first time, it did absolutely nothing to help.

He took a moment to compose himself – already working on moving past the rejection, but it was  _hard –_ and then leaned back again to look at the little boy in his arms. He needed to focus on him, now.

“How do you feel about baking some cookies, huh?” he asked, plastering on a smile.

Peter's squeal of joy was enough to cheer him up at least a little.

\---

He didn't sleep very well over the next couple of days. Tony's words kept spinning around in his head as he laid awake, and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fall asleep with  _We shouldn't have... I'm sorry_ circling around his mind. Obviously he had gotten the wrong signal from the genius, and he shouldn't have pushed for more, because there was a very real chance that he had ruined their friendship now, and that thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

As expected, Tony had locked himself away in his workshop again, and was refusing visitors. For the time being, Steve gave him the space he so obviously needed – even though he worried constantly – and focused on being the father that Peter needed him to be.

“Jesus, who killed your puppy?” Sam asked as he wandered into the kitchen three days after Steve and Tony's almost kiss.

“We don' hab uh puppy, silly,” Peter giggled, taking a gulp of his milk as he sat on Steve's lap.

“No, we don't,” Steve agreed, cramming the last of their – by now, kind of stale – batch of cookies into his mouth.

“Seriously, though, you look miserable. Who's skull do I need to crack?” Sam asked, rolling his eyes.

“Please stop saying violent things in front of Peter,” he replied, side-stepping the question entirely, because he really wasn't in the mood to talk about it. If the way Sam rose his eyebrows at him was anything to go by, the man was absolutely not impressed.

“You're avoiding the issue.”

“That's because there isn't one. I'm fine,” he replied, forcing a smile. “Just tired, is all. I haven't been sleeping well.”

“Peteroo keeping you awake, huh?” the man chuckled, moving over to the fridge.

“Something like that,” he murmured, washing down the last of his cookie with a sip of Peter's milk.

“Yeah, well, Miss Potts is here to pick you up, so you better buck your ideas up before the interview,” Sam replied, pouring himself a glass of juice.

“She's here already?” he asked, panicking a little as he dusted the cookie crumbs off his shirt. “I didn't expect her so soon.”

“Well, she's got to make you look pretty before your big début,” Sam shrugged. “And you have to get to the other side of the country. You need me to watch the kid?”

“Would you?” Steve sighed gratefully, handing Peter over as he got to his feet. “He should go down for his nap in a few hours, anyway, and I should be back in time for bath time. If not, just make sure the water's not too high, or too hot, and he's not a fan of getting his hair washed, so just watch his eyes -”

“Steve,” Sam cut him off, holding a hand up to silence him. “I've got this, okay? You go do your thing; we're gonna have a great time, huh, little man?”

“Uh-huh,” Peter nodded, grinning. He had a milky moustache that Steve just had to kiss away, ruffling the little boy's hair before he went to meet Pepper at the elevator.

“Hi, sorry,” he greeted her. “Sam just told me you were here. I hope you weren't waiting too long.”

“It's fine,” she replied as they got into the elevator. “I'm a little early, anyway. I was hoping to catch Tony before we left, but it looks like he's locked himself in his workshop again, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, sagging a little. “I... it's my fault.”

“Oh, Steve, honey, I'm sure he's just being difficult -”

“I tried to kiss him.”

Pepper stopped halfway through her sentence, obviously speechless. “You... you tried to kiss him?”

“Yes,” Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“And he... he _ran away?”_ she asked incredulously.

“See, I thought my pride couldn't get any more wounded, but putting it like that -”

“No, no, Steve, I just... he really ran away?” she asked, obviously shocked as hell for some reason. “God, he's an idiot.”

“It was my fault,” Steve insisted, a little indignant at the fact that Pepper was so quick to blame Tony for something that he hadn't done. “I must have seen something that wasn't there, and I pushed him when he obviously isn't interested -”

“Oh, I'm going to _kill him,”_ she hissed, and Steve rose his eyebrows in confusion. “Steve, this isn't your fault, okay?”

“But -”

“Just trust me on this one, all right?” she cut him off, surprisingly gentle after the aggressiveness she had shown before. “I'm going to talk to him, but I promise you, Steve, this isn't your fault.”

“You really don't have to do that,” he shook his head, feeling his neck heating a little bit. “I'm a big boy – I can deal with the rejection if he's not interested. It hurts, sure, but I'm pretty sure I can -”

“If you finish that sentence, I'm going to bang your heads together and then kill you both,” she told him firmly, and he decided it was just best not to argue with her. Her heels looked really pointy, after all. “Now, let's talk business. I got you a couple of suit options to choose from; you can try them on on the plane and decide which you prefer. They've sent over a set of questions that I've had revised, so they shouldn't be too invasive. Ellen is generally laid back about these things, so don't worry about it too much. They've also asked if they can show a photo of Peter. I've had JARVIS download a couple to a flash drive, but whether we give them to them is totally up to you.”

“What would you suggest?” he asked as they stepped out of the elevator and onto the roof. A Stark Industries plane was waiting for them.

“Honestly?” she sighed. “Either situation isn't ideal, but giving them an approved photo to show – just one – is likely to stop them trying to get one without your permission. I've had a restraining order plea made up, and it should go through within the next couple of days, but even when it does, it's probably not going to stop them all, and we can't hope to stop a couple of photos from leaking even if we file a law suit. It'd be easier to put a photo out there straight away, and it might at least stall them for a few months.”

“Makes sense,” he nodded, sighing, as he gestured for Pepper to board the plane in front of him. “I can't say I'm happy about it, but it's better than the alternative. They're nice pictures, right? Which ones did JARVIS choose?”

“From what I can tell, he was told to photograph Peter's every living moment,” Pepper rolled her eyes. “There are thousands of them. I'll give you the flash drive when we've settled and we can choose a good one together.”

“But... who told JARVIS to take the photos?” Steve asked, taking his seat.

“Who do you think?” Pepper replied, rolling her eyes again.

As the safety procedures began, Steve sat in silence and thought about Pepper's words. Why had Tony taken it upon himself to take so many photos of Peter? Sure, Steve had mentioned maybe once that he wanted to make sure he had some memories of the boy's youth, but he hadn't really expected Tony to be listening to him. Before too long, his chest was aching again at the mere thought of the genius' kindness, and the fact that he had ruined their friendship.

He begrudgingly modeled the suits Pepper had bought for him about an hour into the journey, and they decided on the coal grey three piece with a white shirt and light blue tie and handkerchief. Maybe he was a little overdressed, but he wanted to make a good impression.

“Okay, so I've had JARVIS get rid of all of the blurry ones,” Pepper explained, turning the laptop she had been using around to face Steve. “The ones he caught of Peter in motion weren't generally usable, but there are still plenty to choose from. I've highlighted the ones that'd probably be best, but it's ultimately up to you.”

“Thanks, Pepper,” he told her sincerely, because, honestly, he didn't know what he would have done in this situation without her. Reaching out for the laptop, he drew it towards him and began scrolling through the pictures. Immediately, he felt himself smiling.

Pepper hadn't been kidding when she'd said JARVIS had taken a lot of photos; there were hundreds to choose from, and all equally adorable. Before he'd scrolled through even half of them, he'd highlighted a vast majority for JARVIS to print out for him back at the tower, intending to put them in frames or his wallet when he got home.

“I can't decide,” he sighed after half an hour of scrolling. “They're all so adorable.”

“I know,” Pepper nodded, leaning over to watch him flicking through them. “Especially the ones where he's covered in some kind of preserve or sleeping.”

She was right. As messy as it inevitably was, a sticky Peter was an adorable Peter, and Steve could rant for hours about how his face went slack and angelic when he slept. He was pretty much set on a photo of him and Peter in the bath – Peter balanced on his lap, and both of them laughing at the other's soapy beard – until he came across one that trumped the lot.

“I've found it,” he announced, turning the laptop to show Pepper.

“Are you sure?” she asked, but she was smiling even as she said it.

“Do you think he'll mind?” Steve retorted, already beginning to doubt his decision.

“If there's one thing Tony's not, it's camera shy. He'll be fine with it,” she replied, shrugging.

Steve nodded, exhaling slowly as he turned the laptop back to him. He saved the other photographs to the laptop and then deleted all but the one he had chosen from the flash drive. He left the chosen picture up for a while, just looking at it fondly. It was from the day he and Peter had spent in the workshop; the day Peter and Tony had started working on their project together. Somehow, JARVIS had managed to capture a picture of little Peter as he reached up to Dum-E for the first time, Tony leaning down with a small, intimate smile on his face as he watched the interaction from his chair.

Before he closed the laptop down, Steve sent the photo to his private server.

\---

Overall, the interview went well. Ellen Degeneres was a lovely woman, he found, and very funny. She helped him feel at ease in front of the audience and cameras, shoehorning him into the interview with easy questions and encouraging words. Everyone ate the picture of Peter up, as he thought they would do, and he only stumbled a little when he was unexpectedly asked about his relationship with Tony.

“So, you're close with Tony Stark, then?” Ellen asked as the coos and aws died down from the audience.

“I, uh -” Steve's mouth suddenly felt very dry. “Yes, we're... we're friends, we -”

“So you and the other Avengers get on with one another?” she rephrased, and Steve could have kissed her there and then. “You don't have to redecorate every time the Hulk trips over a sock?”

The audience laughed, and Steve found himself smiling, too. “No, no, Doctor Banner is probably the most laid back of us all, actually. Plus, it's likely to be one of Peter's socks these days, so nobody really minds.”

“So he's a messy baby, huh?”

“Well... not overly so, I don't think,” he shrugged. “His favourite food is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, though, which is... a nightmare, frankly.”

The audience laughed again, and he felt like he was getting his confidence back after his earlier slip. Even Ellen laughed good naturedly, so that was a good sign.

“All right, well, listen, I wish you all the luck in the world with the rest of the adoption process,” she went on to say. “That's about all the time we have, I'm afraid, but I just want to, real quick, give you this.”

Grinning, she pulled out a little t-shirt that said  _My Daddy fights bad guys..._ on the front of it, and then proceeded to show him the back, which read ... _but Ellen is a superhero._ It got another round of laughter and applause, but Steve took it graciously, and then the interview was officially over.

“Steve!” Pepper gestured to him once he was done shaking hands – having appeared from the green room where they had been sitting beforehand. Feeling pretty good about himself and how he had done, he shook a few more hands and then went to meet her.

“How did I do?” he asked as she began to lead him back through the building to the car that would take them to the airport. “I felt like it went well.”

“It went _really_ well,” she agreed, slipping past him as he held the door open for her. “You were friendly and funny, and I'm fairly certain at least half of the women – and a few men, actually – swooned over the way you talked about Peter.”

“How did I talk about Peter?” he asked, genuinely confused as he slid into the car behind her. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Steve, not at all,” she shook her head. “We're a society of fatherless families, these days. It was lovely to see you so obviously, completely in love with Peter.”

“Of course I am,” he frowned. “He's everything to me.”

“Well, now the world knows that, too,” she replied, smiling.

Steve wasn't sure if he was so happy about that.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Despite everything else, he was in high spirits as they made their return journey. Pepper caught up on some emails on the plane, and Steve finally managed to get a few hours of sleep after days without, so, by the time they stepped into the elevator at Stark tower, they were both happy.

“Thank you for today, Pepper,” he told her sincerely. “I know this isn't your job anymore, and that you're busy with other things, so I just want to say that I appreciate all your help.”

“You're welcome,” she replied, smiling. “Honestly, it's nice to work with someone who actually listens to what you tell them the first time, and takes your advice on board.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, mood dipping a little as he thought about Tony again. “He can be a bit of a handful.”

Seeming to sense the change in atmosphere, Pepper placed a perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder and rubbed it reassuringly. “He'll come around,” she promised. “I don't know what's gotten into him, but trust me; all is not lost.”

Steve still wasn't sure whether he believed her, but, if anyone was to know, it would be Pepper. She had been the one who actually dated Tony, after all. Now he was thinking about it, were his feelings for Tony really appropriate conversation to be having with the genius' ex-girlfriend? She didn't seem too upset about it, but there was really no way of telling. For all he knew, he could be offending her.

“I, uh -” Before he could apologise, the elevator came to a stop at the communal floor. “Oh, I... I guess this is my stop. Thank you, again, for today.”

“Don't mention it,” she replied, giving him one last pat on the shoulder as he stepped out. “If you ever need anything else, Steve, don't hesitate to ask, okay? About _anything.”_

“Will do,” he nodded, waving as the doors closed again and Pepper descended to the atrium.

When she was safely out of sight, he took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh while he checked his watch. It was almost seven o'clock – later than he had expected to be back – which meant, if Sam had stuck to Peter's schedule, the little boy should have been bathed and put into his pyjamas by now, ready for his bedtime story and milk.

Heading into the living room, he was confused to find Sam on the couch, Peter-less, and with the TV on.

“Uh, hey,” he greeted, peering over the back of the couch. Sam waved jovially at him. “Where's Peter? He didn't go to bed already, right? I wanted to say goodnight.”

“Oh, no, he's around,” Sam shrugged, and quickly sat up at Steve's panicked expression. “He's not by _himself_ , Steve, Jesus. Give me a little more credit. No, he wanted to go play with Stark, and they've been thick as thieves ever since.”

“He's with _Tony -?”_

“Hey, Chicken Little, look what we did!” came Tony's voice from behind them, and Steve turned immediately.

Stood in the doorway, both grinning from ear to ear, were Tony and Peter, hand in hand. Peter's hair was still damp, so he'd obviously had his bath, but, instead of being put into his pyjamas, Tony had dressed him in a tiny three piece suit, instead. A three piece suit that matched the one the genius was wearing exactly. Hell, Tony had even managed to find a pair of tiny sunglasses so that Peter matched him in that respect, too.

“Call me Chicken Little one more time, Stark, I dare you,” Sam growled, even as Peter spotted that Steve was back.

“Papa!” he squealed, letting go of Tony's hand to go toddling over, arms already outstretched for a hug.

“Hey, baby!” he crowed, laughing as the little boy basically jumped into his arms. He scooped him up and held him over his head for a moment, then brought him back down for a kiss. “I missed you. Did you have fun while I was gone?”

“Uh-huh,” Peter nodded, settling on Steve's hip with his arms around his neck. “We pwayed dwess up 'n now we match.”

“You sure do,” he agreed, glancing down at the little suit. “You're a handsome boy, that's for sure.”

Peter giggled shyly, then planted his face against Steve's neck. Glancing over him, he caught Tony's eye and watched as the genius glanced away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck almost nervously.

“Sorry,” the brunet mumbled. “It was my idea, and now he's riled up before bed, and I -”

“It's okay, Tony,” he cut him off, smiling cautiously. “He just needs his milk and a bedtime story, right, buddy?”

“Can... can Tony do duh miwky story?” Peter asked, fiddling with Steve's loosened tie. “Pwees, Papa?”

Steve glanced over at Tony, not really sure what to say. “I'm not sure Tony wants to -”

“I can – I can do it, if he wants me to,” the genius cut him off softly. “If you don't mind, of course -”

“Of course I don't mind – why would I -”

“I mean, he's your kid; you set the rules -”

“- mind? You know I don't mind you bonding with him -”

“- and I don't want to -”

“You're both idiots,” Sam told them seriously, effectively cutting them both off. “Somebody make the kid's bottle, or I will, got it? Jeez.”

Without another word, Steve handed Peter over to Tony and followed them into the kitchen.

“Still deserve better,” Sam muttered as he passed, but he decided not to comment on it.

He sat at the kitchen table as the genius placed Peter opposite him, and they both watched as – quite effortlessly, now he knew what he was doing – Tony went about making Peter's milk.

“So, what else did you do while I was away?” Steve asked the little boy, leaning across the table to take the sunglasses off his face. “Did you have a good time while I was doing the interview?”

“ _That's_ where you were?” Tony blurted, then ducked his head and turned back to warm up the milk once he'd realised what he'd done. “Um... sorry.”

Steve hated this. He hated that a single moment had ruined what they had had between them. He would take just being Tony's friend again over this forced awkwardness any day.

“Yeah, um, Pepper got me an interview on the Ellen show,” he replied, playing with Peter's glasses. “We decided it was best to come clean about Peter before the Paparazzi got there first.”

“Yeah, she mentioned something about taking you out, but I didn't realise that was the reason. I don't know how I feel about you being in cahoots with Pepper,” the genius replied, a little of his bravado returning, thank God. “It makes sense, though. Hopefully it'll keep them off your back while the restraining order kicks in, and then things will be easier for everyone.”

“That's the hope,” Steve agreed, not wanting to upset their new-found equilibrium. “She's a wonder.”

“Right?” Tony nodded, handing Peter his sippy cup of milk before sitting down. “I don't know what I'd do without her. She deserves all the good things in the world.”

“Why wuz y'doin' uh int'view?” Peter mumbled around the mouth of his sippy cup as he gulped his milk down.

“I was telling everyone how much I love you,” Steve replied, smiling.

Peter just nodded, yawning as he put his empty cup on the table so he could rub his eyes. “'kay.”

Tony chuckled at the boy's obvious indifference to Steve's declaration of love. So long as Peter understood that Steve did love him, however, he didn't mind how the boy reacted. Besides, he knew full well that the little boy loved him back.

“I think it's story time, don't you?” Steve said, and Peter nodded. “Come on, then, buddy.”

Peter lifted his arms for Tony to pick him up, and the genius didn't even hesitate. Compared with the man he had been when Steve had first brought the little boy home, he was a completely different person. Sure, he still had his moments, but he had taken to Peter better than Steve could have even hoped for. Despite their still rocky friendship – and the fact that he was supposed to be getting over him – Steve couldn't help the swell of love that filled up his chest.

They quickly made their way to Steve's floor, and he led the way into Peter's bedroom.

“All right, buddy,” he started as Tony put him on the ground. “Why don't I help you with your jammies while Tony picks a story? Does that sound good?”

“Uh-huh,” Peter nodded, even though Tony looked a little like the pressure of the responsibility might kill him.

Steve quickly got to work on getting the little boy out of his suit – folding each piece meticulously, because it could be worn again before washing – and then into a set of colourful robot pyjamas. By the time he was done, Peter was swaying a little on the spot and rubbing his eyes repeatedly, so he scooped him up and carried him to bed himself.

“There you go, baby,” he murmured, tucking the little boy in, and then stepped back for Tony to take his turn.

“I picked Where The Wild Things Are,” Tony told him, perching on the edge of the bed. “Is that okay? We can pick a different one if you -”

“Y'hafta be under duh covers f'story time,” Peter told him instead, lifting up the covers for the genius to clamber in. After a moment's hesitation, he did just that.

Steve settled into the rocking chair at the other side of the room, watching Tony carefully as he snuggled in beside Peter and started their story. It was obvious that he didn't have much experience reading to children – even before Peter, Steve had read to some kids down at the hospital, so he knew how to do all the voices – but, God bless him, he tried. Peter was being rapidly soothed to sleep by the sound of his voice, anyway (and Steve was, a little, too), so that was all that really mattered.

“The end,” the genius came to a close after around fifteen minutes, and Steve managed to drag his eyes away from the man's long, dark eyelashes long enough to notice that Peter was sound asleep, resting on Tony's shoulder.

Silently, Steve got to his feet and padded across the room. As Tony slid out of the bed, he righted Peter's position and tucked him in more snugly – little Iron Man toy tucked in beside him, though he carried it around with him less and less these days – and then leaned in for a final, goodnight kiss. When he was finished, he straightened up again and smiled at Tony, relieved when the man, in turn, smiled back.

They snook out of the room together, and let a shared sigh of relief leave their lips as they collapsed onto the couch in the living room.

“He's a great kid,” Tony said out of nowhere after a few moments of content silence.

“Yeah, he is,” Steve agreed.

“He told me he likes Iron Man better than Captain America today, though,” the genius continued, grinning as he turned to Steve. “Sorry not sorry, Stevie.”

Steve groaned exaggeratedly, grinning. “Jesus, Tony, what have you done to my son -”

And then he stopped, realising that he had just referred to Peter, out loud, as his son for the very first time. Peter was his _son._ When he looked up, he found Tony smiling softly at him.

“Finally hit you, huh, Papa?” he asked, and, against his will, Steve found himself shivering a little at Tony addressing him like that.

“I, uh...” He cleared his throat, trying to change the subject. “I'm sorry about the other day. I -”

“What?” Tony frowned. “Why're you apologising? Steve, you did nothing wrong! I was the one who threw myself at you, and I can't even begin to tell you how -”

“Wait, what?”

Steve was very, very confused. Why was Tony blaming himself for something that Steve had done? Was... was that why he had run off? Did he think it was _his_ fault that Steve had tried to kiss him? Had Tony been blaming himself for Steve's mistakes this whole time?

“Tony, listen, I don't blame you for this, okay? _I_ was the one who tried to kiss you -”

“No... you weren't?” Tony replied, sounding mightily confused. “You... you wanted to kiss _me?”_

“ _Yes,”_ Steve sighed, feeling the back of his neck heat at having to admit it again. “And I'm sorry that I made you feel like it was your fault -”

“I was trying to kiss _you_.”

“Yes, I'm sorry that I made you feel that way -”

“No, Steve, listen to my actual words,” Tony stopped him, and Steve finally turned to properly look at him. “I _wanted_ to kiss you.”

Suddenly, the world seemed to shift a little underneath him, and he had to take a deep, deliberate breath to stop himself from keeling over. “You... you _wanted_ to -?”

“And you were trying to kiss me?” Tony asked, beginning to sound equally as breathless, Steve was pleased to note. “You want to kiss me?”

“You're amazing, Tony,” he replied honestly. “The way you are with Peter; how you work so hard for everyone around you... Kissing you is all I've been able to think about for weeks.”

“ _Weeks,”_ Tony whispered, sounding a little awestruck. “So why didn't you?”

“I didn't think you felt the same way,” Steve shrugged, glancing down at his hands on his lap.

“Steve, I've been in _love_ with you since -”

Suddenly, Tony came skidding to a stop, eyes wide in horror. A moment of silence fell between them, and then the genius jerked upwards, obviously trying to bolt, but Steve was too quick.

“Don't,” he whispered, grabbing the man's hand. Slowly, Tony turned back to him. “Please, please don't shut me out again.”

Warily, Tony let himself be drawn forwards to straddle Steve's lap. Barely willing to believe this was actually happening, Steve ran his hands up the brunet's arms soothingly, not stopping as he stroked the man's neck, then up to cup his face.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, and grinned at the look of shocked awe on Tony's face.

“You -”

The rest of the genius' sentence was lost in Steve's mouth as, finally – _finally –_ he drew their faces together in a kiss. It was chaste, at first, and a little one sided as Tony got his bearings, but, once he did, it was possibly the greatest kiss of Steve's life. He was left instantly breathless as he felt the genius' tongue running lightly over his bottom lip, and his mouth opened in a gasp to let him in.

“Can't believe,” Tony mumbled into his mouth as Steve listed sideways to end up with the genius hovering between his legs, “that this is happening.”

Steve hummed in agreement, hugging Tony closer to him as the man leaned down to begin sucking kisses onto his neck. Before he could stop himself, he was moaning softly in pleasure, body arching against Tony's as the brunet continued to attack his neck with gusto.

“ _Tony,”_ he gasped, raking a hand through the man's hair while the other buried itself under his shirt, desperate to touch actual skin. “I need -”

“Papa?”

Quite suddenly, everything skidded to a complete stop.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding,” Tony laughed, short of breath, as he slumped forwards.

Swallowing his disappointment, Steve took a deep breath and sat up, taking Tony with him. He allowed himself one more kiss, slow and sweet, before he pulled away completely.

“Stay?” he asked, running his hands absent-mindedly under the back of Tony's shirt. “I'll only be a few minutes. Just... stay, please?”

Tony nodded, smiling gently as he leaned down for another kiss. “Okay.”

Heart fluttering madly in his chest, Steve waited for Tony to slide off his lap and onto the couch before he got to his feet. Unable to stop the grin that was threatening to split his face, he clambered up and quickly made his way across the room.

“What's wrong, baby?” he asked as he walked into Peter's room. The little boy was sat up in bed, hugging his Iron Man toy to his chest as he sucked his thumb. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Peter shook his head and pulled his thumb away long enough to say, “I... duh potty.”

“You need the potty?” Steve asked, walking over to scoop him up. “Good job for telling me, buddy!”

“No, I wen' potty.”

“Ah,” he nodded, shifting his grip a little. “Well, that's what Pull Ups are for, huh? I'm still proud of you for telling me, baby.”

“'kay,” Peter nodded, rubbing his eyes.

“Let's get you cleaned up and back into bed, huh?” he smiled, kissing the side of the little boy's head as he put him down on the ground next to the dresser.

Quickly helping Peter out of his bottoms and disposing of the soiled pair of Pull Ups, he pulled out a packet of wipes and a new set of underwear and went to work on cleaning Peter up. In his half asleep state, the little boy let himself be moved and jostled into the positions that Steve wanted him to be in, until, a few minutes later, he was pulling his pyjama pants back up and dusting him off.

“All done,” he smiled, stroking the little boy's rosy cheek. “Feel better?”

Peter just nodded, eyes half lidded as he swayed on the spot.

“Come on, then. Bed time, sweetie,” he told him, scooping him back up to carry over to bed. Thankfully, the Pulls Ups had done their job, so the little boy's clothes and covers were still dry.

He deposited Peter back into bed and tucked him in. He was so tired that Steve didn't even have to sing him a song to get him to sleep; all he had to do was pet his hair a few times and his eyes fluttered closed again.

“Night night, baby boy,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss the top of his head before getting to his feet.

When he had double checked to make sure Peter really was asleep, he all but sprinted back into the living room. His pants grew a little tighter just in the knowledge that Tony was there, and he was Steve's for the taking. God, Tony was in _love_ with him! How had he not realised? He had been too caught up in his own feelings to notice, he supposed. It didn't matter now, though, because they were both on the same page, and Peter was asleep, and -

Tony was asleep.

As he rounded the couch, it became apparent that the genius had fallen asleep waiting for him, slumped on the couch with a gorgeous, peaceful expression on his face. Steve couldn't even bring himself to be disappointed at the sight. There would be time for kissing – and more, hopefully – some other time. Right now, Steve was content in the fact that he could finally call Tony his.

“Come on,” he murmured, pulling the half asleep genius to his feet.

“S'appnin?” he mumbled, swaying, not unlike Peter had just been doing, into Steve's side as he steered him towards his room. Maybe he was being a little presumptuous, but Tony didn't seem to mind.

“Bed time,” he whispered into Tony's hair, and the man made a half-interested noise, but his eyes were still closed as Steve steered him over to his bed. “To _sleep.”_

“Aw, no fun,” Tony grumbled, even as he toppled onto Steve's bed and laid completely still as he started to take his shoes off.

“We've both had a long day,” Steve replied, pulling the man's socks off, and, after a moment of contemplation, went for his belt, too. “Plus, Peter's having a fussy night. If he's been up once, he'll damn sure be up again.”

“F'you want me t'sleep, y'gotta stop grabbin' m'junk, then,” the genius sighed, but lifted his hips helpfully when Steve tugged his pants down, leaving him in a pair of deliciously tight black boxer-briefs.

“You're exhausted,” Steve told him firmly, a little thrill shooting up his spine as he leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to the genius' lips. “Just let me take care of you?”

“Such a mother hen,” Tony huffed against his lips, but his eyes fluttered shut again as Steve kissed his cheek, then made his way down to his neck to nuzzle softly while he began unbuttoning first the man's waistcoat, then his shirt, to take off together.

“You always looked good in a suit,” he mumbled against the genius' beard, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of his chin and revelling in the feel of the hair under his lips. He was, honestly, a little surprised by how calm and content he felt about everything.

“Says the man sporting the Armani,” Tony replied, reaching up to gently tug Steve's tie out of his waistcoat. “Was the blue trimming Pepper's idea?”

“The whole suit was,” he replied, sitting back and letting Tony follow him so he could take the man's shirt off.

“It's arc reactor blue,” Tony sighed, sliding it over Steve's head. “I'm going to kill her.”

“Funny,” Steve replied, getting to work on getting his own shirt and waistcoat off. “That's exactly what she said about you, too.”

“We're too similar, her and I,” Tony told him, reaching out to tentatively unbuckle Steve's belt. “That's why it didn't work, in the end. We were together on everything but what mattered the most, and neither of us could get the other to come around. Plus, y'know, I had a massive boner for Captain America.”

Steve chuckled, kicking his pants off and leaving them both in just their underwear. Slowly, he reached out and traced the scar where the arc reactor used to sit. “Just Captain America?”

“Not anymore,” Tony whispered, and then they were kissing again.

It was amazing, really, how easy it was to kiss Tony. Every other kiss that Steve had participated in had felt, at least on some level, a little awkward. Not this time, though. Sure, their first one had been a little out of the blue, but it had only taken a few seconds for them both to get into it, and it just felt _right._ Steve didn't think he'd ever felt this way about anyone before, not even Peggy. It was a feeling that he cherished as he gently pushed Tony back onto the pillows and reluctantly pulled away to get them both under the covers.

“Y'know what? I'm awake now. This can definitely happen; this is happening right – _oh,”_ Tony sighed, going boneless against Steve's chest as he was tugged towards him and the covers thrown over the top of them. “This is good, too, I guess.”

Steve smiled into the genius' hair, tugging him closer still to rest against his side. “I'm glad.”

“Night,” Tony yawned, pressing a kiss to Steve's pectoral and leaving the skin tingling.

“Good night, Tony,” he replied, kissing his cheek. “I love you.”

Tony's breath seemed to hitch a little, and then he relaxed again. “Love you, too. Man, that's weird to say out loud.”

“Good, though, I hope?” Steve asked, reaching up to start stroking a hand through Tony's hair.

The genius just hummed in agreement, and, in the next second, he was asleep. Noting, briefly, that running his hand through the man's hair had that affect, Steve closed his eyes and followed him into unconsciousness.

 


	9. Chapter 9

As it turned out, waking up with a sleeping Tony Stark next to you was just as wonderful as Steve had thought it would be. Better still, it was a sleeping Tony Stark with an equally asleep Peter in his arms. He had guessed that the little boy would wake up in the night again – if he woke up once, it was likely to happen a million times, after all – but he hadn't heard him calling, or even come into the room. He seemed completely content, resting in Tony's arms between them, so Steve wasn't too worried.

Lying back on his side, he settled in to watch them sleep for a while, not knowing when he might next get the chance. Half an hour passed before Peter began to stir, little face scrunching up as he snuffled himself into consciousness, and Steve was smiling helplessly by the time his eyes fluttered open.

“Hey, little man,” he whispered, opening his arms for the little boy to wiggle into. Without much effort, he rolled them both so Peter was laying on top of him, tummy to tummy. “What're you doing in here, huh?”

“I waked up 'n Iron Man's arm came'd off,” Peter told him seriously, digging around until he found the toy. Steve couldn't help but laugh softly at the bad duct-tape job on one of the arms. “Tony made 'um better.”

“He sure did,” he agreed. “Did you wake him up to do it?”

“He felled outta bed.”

“I thought so,” he chuckled, because only a Tony half asleep could have managed something like this.

“Den he said you wuz habin' uh sleepober 'n we felled 'sleep here,” Peter explained, fiddling with his toy. “Why y'habin uh sleepober, Papa?”

“Well... Tony was sleepy after reading your story, and he was closer to my bedroom than going all the way up to his,” he replied truthfully, though his throat suddenly felt a little constricted. “Do you understand?”

“Uh-huh,” Peter nodded, and then he yawned. “Tony can do sleepobers in my woom, too.”

“I'm sure he'd love that, baby,” Steve smiled, heart melting a little.

“Love what?” came a sleepy mumble from beside them, and Steve's heart melted yet further as he met Tony's gorgeous, half lidded eyes.

“Sleepober in m'woom,” Peter told him, resting his head against Steve's bare chest. “Pwees?”

“Sure, I could go for a sleepover,” the genius agreed easily, and, if possible, Steve fell a little more in love with him for it. He frowned a little, however, when the man's eyes took on a bit of a manic quality as he grinned. “Oh my God, Steve, we could build a fort. Please, Steve, please can we build a fort? We'll make it super safe, and we'll even invite stupid Barton inside if you really want, and -”

“Whassa fort? Papa, fort? Papa, Papa, Papa -”

“All right, all right, boys, calm down,” Steve laughed, squirming as Tony rolled towards them and tried to climb on top of him – Peter smushed between them, and giggling like a maniac. “We can build a fort later, okay? JARVIS, can you help Peter to the communal kitchen? Thor and Bruce should be in there by now. Me and Tony will be there in a minute, okay?”

“'kay,” Peter nodded, and allowed Steve to kiss him on the very tip of his nose before he slid sideways and clambered off the bed.

“Should I be worried?” Tony asked quietly as they watched Peter leave. “Usually, I'd be all for being alone and half naked with you in a bed, but this seems a little ominous, and -”

Steve shut him up with a sweet, gentle kiss, and found it was quickly becoming his favourite way to stop the genius from talking.

“Good morning,” he whispered, smiling at the brunet's dazed expression when he pulled away a bit.

Tony hummed in agreement as a dopey smile spread across his face. “The absolute best morning from where I'm sitting.”

“Sweet-talker,” Steve told him, and then indulged him in another kiss just because he could. “I just... can we talk? I feel like we need to talk before... _this_ happens.”

“Sure,” Tony replied a little hoarsely, swallowing around what Steve realised was a lump of anxiety in his throat. “I'd prefer to keep kissing, but talking is good. We can... talk away, sure – let's... let's talk. Did you know that kissing releases endorphins in the brain that -”

“Tony,” Steve laughed, pulling Tony forwards to hug him close. “It's okay. This will only take a minute, and then we can go back to kissing. I just want to make sure we're both on the same page, is all.”

“We're both in our underwear in your bed. I think we're on the same page -”

“I'm serious about this, Tony,” he sighed. “I don't have the most experience when it comes to relationships, and it's not just me anymore. I have Peter to think about, too, and I can't... I can't let him get close to someone that's going to break his heart as well as mine. I hate to say it, but... he will always come first.”

“I know,” Tony replied quietly. “I don't – I would never expect anything else; you know that, right? I'll admit, I was a little jealous when he first arrived, but I... I love Peter. Kid's the single most adorable thing I've ever seen, Steve – it's crazy. You know I'm not totally okay with being relied on by _anyone_ like that, but... I love you, Steve, and I want to be with you. If Peter is part of your package, I think... I think I can be what he needs me to be.”

“That's all I need to hear,” Steve whispered, not trusting his voice not to shake. “That's all I'll ever need from you, Tony; a promise to try.”

“I promise,” Tony nodded against his chest. “That might not always be enough, though, Steve; what if -”

“Hey,” Steve cut him off gently, using a finger to gently tilt his head up. “It's enough for me and Peter.”

When Tony finally gave him a little, jerky nod, he smiled – content, for now, that they both wanted the same thing.

“I love you,” he whispered, delighting in feeling a little shiver run through Tony's body as he leaned in close. “I can't believe I can finally say it.”

“Sap,” Tony managed, albeit weakly, as his eyes focused on Steve's lips.

“Sap who loves you, Tony Stark,” he retorted, smiling as he finally captured the man's lips.

“I have a heart condition, y'know,” Tony mumbled against his lips. “You can't keep saying stuff like that.”

“I'll say it as many times as it takes,” he replied, leaning in to lightly worry the man's bottom lip between his teeth.

“Jesus, please tell me this is happening now,” Tony groaned, rolling them until he was hovering over Steve.

“It's happening,” he nodded, capturing the man's lips again whilst simultaneously rolling his body up to meet Tony's.

They didn't speak for a while after that.

\---

They decided not to tell the team. At least, not until they'd got themselves and Peter used to the idea. It was going to be bad enough trying to explain to a three year old that there was another man in Steve's life, never mind a bunch of gossipy superheroes.

“So, how's it feel to pop your cherry?” Tony asked, with no hint of sarcasm whatsoever, as Steve gently towel dried the man's hair.

He'd let that bit of information slip just before the main event. It wasn't for want of trying, of course, but he'd just... not had time. Tony had been surprisingly supportive about it all – the loveable fool must have asked him at least four times if Steve was really sure it was what he wanted – and, if he did say so himself, the end product had been pretty spectacular. They'd only talked a little more afterwards, and then showered (together, which Steve found he liked _very_ much).

“I don't really feel any different,” he shrugged, then grinned when Tony pouted. “I'm glad I waited, though.”

“Jesus, you're like a living after school special,” the genius muttered, then caught Steve's arm as he went to dry the side of his head. “It was... it was good, though, right? You enjoyed it? I didn't hurt you -”

“It was perfect,” Steve told him, leaning down for a quick kiss.

“If I'd known in advance, I would have... with the flower petals, and probably some candles, and -”

“Tony,” he shushed, gently sweeping the man's damp bangs off his forehead. “I don't need any of that stuff. You're all I need.”

“You're sure -?”

Steve cut him off in his new favourite way, and spent a few moments just exploring the roof of the genius' mouth with his tongue. When he pulled away, Tony was, as he had intended, too dazed to speak.

“I'm sure,” he confirmed, continuing to dry the man's hair. “Now, what are we going to do about your clothes? I could run up to your floor and grab you some -”

“Nah, don't be silly,” Tony rolled his eyes. “I'll just borrow one of your shirts.”

“Oh,” Steve grinned, actually really liking that idea. “Okay.”

Tony just rolled his eyes again as he got to his feet to go fish out his pants from the previous day. “Stop being a sap and go find a shirt that won't bury me.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve nodded, still grinning as he wandered over to his wardrobe. He dressed himself quickly in a pair of worn jeans and a white t-shirt, then spent a few minutes looking through his shirts for Tony – considering what he would look good in just as much as what might fit.

He decided on a long sleeved, forest green button down that he didn't think he'd ever actually worn, but looked small enough to maybe fit the genius. Happy with his choice, he carried it back out to Tony and bent down to press a soft kiss between the man's shoulder blades before he helped slide the shirt up his arms.

“Ready?” he asked once they were both dressed and presentable.

“Please – I was born ready,” Tony replied, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist easily. “Are _you_ ready? Will you be able to keep your hands off me for such a long stretch of time?”

“I've been restraining myself for weeks,” Steve told him with a smile. “I'm sure I'll manage an hour or so for breakfast.”

“After having had _this_ body all over you? No, Steve, sweetie, you think you can handle it, but you can't. An all-consuming lust is going to creep up on you, and -”

Steve was laughing as he kissed the man, once again silencing him.

“Y'know, this kissing me quiet thing would be a problem if I didn't enjoy it so much,” the brunet grumbled, and Steve pecked his lips again just to prove a point.

They held hands as they made their way to the elevator – something that Tony whined about, but he didn't let go – and Steve made sure to kiss him as many times as he had the time for as they rose to the communal floor, so that, by the time the doors opened again, they were both slightly short of breath.

“I love you,” he grinned, still not over the flutter of excitement that lit up his chest at being able to finally say it out loud.

“Dork,” Tony mumbled, but it was with a goofy smile, so Steve didn't take it to heart.

The genius headed out onto the communal floor first while Steve loitered around the elevator so they wouldn't get caught arriving together and arouse suspicion. It might have been a little over the top, but he couldn't help but want to keep Tony to himself for a little longer before they let everyone else know.

He decided five minutes was long enough for Tony to settle himself at breakfast, and followed him in – whistling jovially to himself until he entered the kitchen, where he promptly froze in the doorway.

_Everyone_ was there. Hell, Tony was even fawning over Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, who Steve hadn't known would be paying a visit. It was unusual to find all the Avengers at breakfast together; they all had such different schedules that they tended to eat on the move, but even _Clint_ had dragged himself out of bed this morning.

“Did somebody call for a team meeting?” he asked, momentarily worried that, in his newly love-drunk state, he had forgotten.

“No, but Pete over there was telling me all about your, and I quote, 'nakey sleepover with Tony' last night, and... well. News travels fast,” Sam replied, grinning mischievously as Steve felt his cheeks begin to heat.

So much for not telling the team.

“We had underwear on,” he grumbled, re-situating Peter onto his lap so he could sit down.

“Nope, nuh-uh, gonna need more information than that,” Clint shook his head, practically bristling with glee. “Did you finally do the do?”

“Can you please not say things like that in front of Peter?” he sighed as Tony seemed to choke on his own spit beside him.

“Don't you have anything better to do with your time other than enquiring about our -” Tony leaned over and covered Peter's ears, “- sex lives?”

The team paused, glancing at each other, and then, in unison, replied, “Nope.”

“Hey, don't look at me,” Rhodey put his hands up when Tony turned to glare at him. “I just had a couple spare days and thought I'd finally come meet the guy you can't stop talking about -”

“That's enough out of you,” Tony cut in smoothly, covering the man's mouth with his hand. “Just sit and bask in my presence like usual, stud muffin.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes, but ultimately sat back and kept quiet. Steve noticed the man kept glancing over at him – obviously watching for a sign that he was hurting Tony in any way – and he found himself actually feeling quite glad about that. Tony didn't usually have many people fighting in his corner, and Steve could see himself becoming very fast friends with the Lieutenant Colonel because they, ultimately, wanted the same thing – for Tony to be happy and loved.

“We still haven't answered the most important question, though,” Clint pressed, and Steve sighed, covering Peter's ears pre-emptively. “Did you guys touch wieners? Is this just a wiener touching situation, or -”

“You've been betting on it, haven't you?” Tony sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Of course.”

“You guys are dicks -”

“Can we _please_ watch our language around the breakfast table?” Steve insisted, kissing the crown of Peter's head. “There are very impressionable ears in range.”

“Sorry,” Tony replied, leaning over to – obviously, without thinking – kiss him softly on the lips.

A moment of utter silence rang around the room as the brunet pulled away again, then -

“Well, there it is. Pay up, boys,” Natasha was the first to crow, and then the whole room erupted into whines and groaning.

While everyone else was arguing over money, Steve turned to focus on little Peter, who had an uncharacteristic frown on his face.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, fearing the worst. What if Peter didn't like the direction Steve and Tony's relationship had gone in? The little boy was his number one priority, after all, and he honestly didn't know what he'd do if Peter didn't approve.

It turned out his worrying was for nothing, though, because Peter just looked between him and Tony, who had somehow managed to get caught up in the arguing over money, and just asked, “Where're _my_ kissies?”

Laughing aloud in relief, he lifted the little boy straight over his head, angling him so his face was within kissing range so he could smother the giggling toddler in them. After a moment, Tony leaned over and joined in until they were all grinning, giggling messes.

“Jesus fucking _Christ.”_

“Clint!” Steve snapped, pulling away to glare at the archer. “What did I just say about your language?”

“Sorry,” Clint mumbled, staring down at his bowl of oatmeal as he handed a wad of cash over to Natasha.

“Time out, Unca Cwint!” Peter called, accentuating his command by pointing towards the door.

Clint glanced at Steve, obviously looking for validation that the little boy was just playing around, but he held firm. After Peter's first temper tantrum, they'd set up the time out system pretty quickly, and it seemed to be doing its job, because they hadn't had a repeat performance since. From Peter, at least.

“You're not serious, right?” the archer asked, and Steve shrugged.

“This is your third warning,” he replied.

“But that's not fair! Tony was doing it, too, and I'd have to sit on the naughty chair for _thirty five minutes -_ ”

“You should have thought about that before you used bad words,” Bruce chipped in, rolling his eyes. “You're a grown man, Clint.”

“ _Exactly!”_ Clint whined, even as he got to his feet. “Peter only has to do three minutes!”

“It'll be double time if you keep whining,” Steve told him, and grinned as the archer ran out of the room before he said anything else to offend.

“Now I see why Tony likes having you guys around,” Rhodey sighed. “You're all fruit loops.”

\---

After breakfast had finished (and Clint had served his time on the naughty chair), everyone went their separate ways. From what he could tell, aside from some friendly jibes, the rest of the team were just relieved that he and Tony had finally gotten their acts together, which was a relief, and Peter was fine with it – with what he understood, anyway, and Steve wasn't sure how much that actually was.

He had been prepared for Tony to go play with Rhodey in the workshop – he didn't see the man very often, after all – but, instead, the Lieutenant Colonel decided to pay Pepper a visit (no doubt to tell her all about Steve and Tony's change in relationship), so Tony suggested they take a trip to the park with Peter.

“The restraining order went through, right?” he asked. “It'll be great – we can get the kid his first questionable vendor hot dog, maybe stop for ice-cream -”

“Is this your way of asking me on a date?” Steve grinned.

“No, I... is it working?”

“It sounds wonderful,” he replied, leaning in for a kiss, and then he called, “Peter? Go get dressed, buddy; we're going to the park.”

They both grinned when an excited squeal filtered through to the kitchen from the living room, followed by the pattering of little feet racing across the room.

“Be careful!” he called again, then turned back to Tony. “When he starts kicking and screaming because it's time to come back, you're dragging his scrawny little body home, y'hear?”

“That seems marginally unreasonable. We can just wait until he starts to fall asleep mid-afternoon, and then there'll be no struggle -”

The genius was still attempting to finish his sentence when Steve covered his mouth with his own, and he grinned into the man's mouth when he let out a little indignant huff before kissing back with gusto.

“All this time, the only thing I needed to do to win an argument was kiss you,” he was still grinning as he pulled away, and gently brushed his thumb over Tony's bottom lip. “I've found your kryptonite, Stark.”

“ _You're_ my kryptonite, doofus,” Tony mumbled under his breath, and Steve laughed happily.

When Peter appeared around twenty minutes later, it was obvious he'd tried to dress himself. To be fair, the kid hadn't done that bad a job of it – he'd managed to get the clothes on, after all, and even match them to a certain degree – but his Black Widow t-shirt was on backwards, and tucked into his underwear. It looked like his shoes were also on the wrong feet, which meant he wobbled a little as he walked.

“Good try, sweetie,” he praised the boy as he righted his shirt and shoes. “You got your pants and Pull-Ups on just right, too!”

“Can we goooo?” Peter whined, squirming back into his t-shirt when Steve pulled it over his head.

“Sure can,” he nodded, and grinned when the little boy threw his arms up excitedly to be picked up.

Tony insisted that they have Happy drive them to the park – which, with the laughably conspicuous number of people with cameras wandering around outside the tower, was probably a good idea – and they arrived in no time.

“Go, run, be free, child,” Tony laughed, letting go of Peter's hand so he could go toddling over to a family of ducks by the lake.

“Just be careful near the water, okay?” Steve called after him, but was pretty sure the little boy wasn't listening as he happily chased the birds around. “We should've brought some bread for him to feed them.”

“Pretty sure you're not allowed to feed the ducks, actually,” Tony grimaced sympathetically as they took a seat on a bench nearby.

“What? That's crazy! My mom used to bring me to feed the ducks all the time!”

“Steve, your old man is showing,” the genius smiled softly, and Steve found himself pouting in spite of himself.

“If anyone's the old man in this relationship, Stark, it's you,” he huffed, then frowned in concern when the genius' expression blanked over for a moment. “What? Are you okay?”

“We're in a relationship, huh?” Tony whispered, the beginnings of a smile spreading across his face.

“Well, I thought I made it clear that that's what I wanted, but if I didn't -”

“No, no, it's what I want, too,” the genius cut him off, and quickly took his hand in both of his. “It's just strange to hear it, after wanting it so long. It's... I like it.”

“Oh,” Steve replied intelligently, then smiled as he leaned forwards to press a kiss to the man's lips. “I'm glad.”

“You know,” Tony mumbled against his lips, “that the paparazzi are probably lurking in bushes with their long distance lenses, right? They can't take photos or come within fifty feet of Peter, sure, but that won't stop them snapping us.”

“I don't care,” Steve replied decisively, but then pulled back again as a thought hit him. “Do... do you care?”

“After you showing that photo of me and Peter on Ellen – which I went back and watched, by the way, and you were great – I don't think there's a person alive that doesn't already know,” he shrugged, smiling. “Pepper seems to be under the impression it was some kind of love letter – sounded like she was tearing up a little when she called me – but... no, I don't care. Kinda like it, actually.”

Steve knew what he meant. He liked the idea of being able to show the genius off to the world as his, too. They really were very similar people.

“Good,” he whispered, leaning in close. “Let's give them a show, then, huh?”

Tony shivered a little against his body when he pulled him close and kissed him senseless. They were in quite a secluded spot, thank God, but Steve made sure to make their kiss a spectacular public display of affection anyway. He just couldn't help himself – he would probably never get over the fact that he could kiss Tony, any place, any time, and not only not get sent to prison for it, but know that Tony loved him back.

“Did I tell you about my heart condition?” the brunet panted. “'Cos you're killing me, here.”

“You love it,” Steve replied, pecking him on the lips again.

“Love _you_ ,” was the mumbled reply, and they both reluctantly pulled away when Peter came running up to them, cheeks ever rosier than usual from the exertion, and a Cheshire cat grin on his little face.

“Need help,” he told them, face becoming serious. “Duh duckie got losted.”

He turned and pointed, bringing to light the tiny duckling with a deformed foot at the pond's edge. The little thing was cheeping weakly in distress, and, as he scanned the scenic view in front of him, Steve realised that its mother and siblings were already halfway to the embankment at the other side of the pond.

“Her mama's gone, Papa!” Peter squealed, toddling back over to the duckling. “Come back, duckie!”

“Jesus, your kid's giving me diabetes,” Tony muttered, getting to his feet. “I got this. Peter, be careful with her, kiddo!”

Steve watched with a smile on his face as the genius jogged over to the little boy, who was crouched down next to the duckling. After a moment of watching them together, he reached into his bag and pulled out a sketchbook and pencil case. It didn't take him long to get lost in the drawing, occasionally glancing up to catch the look of wonder on Peter's face as they tried to usher the duckling into the water, and the little slither of Tony's tongue peeking out as he concentrated on not tripping over boy and duckling alike.

“I think we're gonna have to carry her round the long way and drop her off at the other side, buddy,” he heard Tony sigh, and glanced up to watch them. Carefully, so to not scare the little thing, Tony ducked down and scooped the duckling up gently to sit in the cup he had made out of his hands.

“Can I hol' her?” Peter asked, peering up into Tony's hands in awe.

“Uh, okay,” Tony nodded, grimacing a little, “but you've got to be really careful, all right? You can't drop her, Peter, and you have to watch her leg.”

“Pwomise.”

Slowly, the genius transferred the duckling into Peter's cupped hands. The little boy was much too small to be carrying her – she was bigger than his hands put together – but he gripped her carefully around the middle so she didn't fall, and followed along behind Tony as he made his way around the pond to the opposite bank.

“Hey.”

Steve jerked, breath leaving him in a rush as the voice that had just spoken resonated in his head. Chest constricting almost painfully, because he must be dreaming, he had to be, he swallowed thickly and slowly turned his head to the left. Where Tony had been sitting, now sat -

“Buck,” he whispered, blinking rapidly to both bat away tears and ensure the sight before him was real. “You're... are you okay?”

Bucky shrugged with one shoulder, his real one, and refused to look at him.

“We... we looked for you,” he continued, because he wanted that point to be made very clear. “I tried to find you, I -”

“Didn't want to be found,” the man replied softly, fiddling with a rip in his tattered jeans.

“Oh.” Steve didn't know what to make of that. He swallowed thickly again. “Where... where did you go?”

“Had some stuff to figure out,” he replied. “Some things to learn.”

“And are you...” Steve had to clear his throat before he continued, barely suppressing the urge to reach out and draw the man into his arms for a fierce hug. “Do you remember...?”

Bucky shook his head sadly, and Steve let out a shaky, disappointed breath. “I was told stories, read some files, but... that's all they are. I know they're true, but I don't remember them.”

“Well, that's... it's a start,” Steve told him, trying for reassuring, but he was more than aware of how desperate he sounded. “That's good, Buck -”

“I don't remember you,” the brunet whispered, and Steve's words clogged in his throat. “You were my mission, but... I didn't kill you.” When he turned to him, his eyes were shining with a burning, child-like confusion that Steve had seen in Peter's eyes, too. “Why couldn't I kill you?”

“Because,” Steve sniffed, eyes burning with unshed tears, “you're my best friend, Buck. You're my _brother -”_

“You're my _mission,”_ the man repeated stubbornly, but he still looked confused, “and you wouldn't fight back.”

“Because you're not my enemy, Buck,” he told him firmly, “and I... I didn't give up on you, y'know? I just... I just couldn't find you, and then...”

He looked up, wiping the tears from his eyes, and stared out across the pond to watch Tony and Peter for a few moments while he collected himself. They looked so happy, so carefree, and he couldn't help but smile just a little as he watched them trying to get the mother duck to take its baby back.

“Cute kid,” Bucky grunted, and Steve smiled proudly.

“Yeah, he is,” he nodded. “He's my son, Buck.”

He didn't even think about the consequences of telling the man that – knew, with all his heart, that Bucky wouldn't hurt Peter. If he was still the Winter Soldier, he wouldn't have stopped to talk in the first place. Sure, he wasn't quite Steve's Bucky, but he was getting there.

“Are you... coming home?” he asked quietly, and his heart sank when the brunet shook his head. “Buck -”

“I'm not done yet,” the man sighed, cutting him off. “There are things I still need to know. People I still need to find.”

Steve understood, of course he did. Bucky needed that sense of closure, and that was perfectly fine. That didn't mean it didn't _hurt_ , though.

“Then can I... will you at least stay in touch?” he asked quietly. “I hate not knowing if you're okay.”

Bucky looked confused by the mere concept of Steve caring about him, but took a deep breath, and then nodded. Shoving his metal arm into a pocket, he rummaged until he pulled out a small, cheap looking phone.

“We can exchange phone numbers,” he muttered, navigating the phone like a pro. “Here.”

He handed it over and Steve quickly keyed in his number, followed by keying Bucky's number into his phone, and then handed it back. He stared at the little digits for a few moments, unable to believe that his best friend, after so much time, was now just a phone call away.

“I have to go,” Bucky mumbled, and Steve looked up, heart constricting.

“Really?” he asked. “You can't stay just a little longer? Have you been eating properly? We were going to get hot-dogs – I could get you one, too -”

“I really have to go,” the man reiterated, getting to his feet. In a last ditch effort to get him to stay, Steve stood up, too, and, probably unwisely, grabbed Bucky around the shoulders and hugged him tight.

“I miss you,” he whispered against the brunet's shoulder. Bucky didn't hug him back, but he didn't throw him off, either, so that was okay. “Just... you can come back, okay? Any time, Buck. I'm sure Tony would let you move in in a heartbeat.”

Bucky sighed deeply, and Steve knew he was being pathetic, and needy, but he couldn't help it. Bucky was _here_ , right in front of him, and he just couldn't help himself.

“If you're not my mission...” the man whispered, and Steve's breath hitched. “What are you?”

“I'm...” he swallowed around the lump in his throat, and, for once, thought about trying to put it into words that this Bucky would understand. “I'm an ally.”

Bucky seemed to freeze in his arms, and then slowly lifted his arms and wrapped them gingerly around Steve's middle. Choking on a sob, Steve hugged him back harder, and when the brunet dropped his arms again, he felt strong enough to do the same.

“Love you, jerk,” he whispered, the ghost of a smile on his face. After a moment of quiet contemplation, Bucky whispered, “Punk,” and he choked on a new set of tears, because he remembered at least that much.

“Steve?”

Before he could ask Bucky what else he remembered, Tony's quiet, unsure voice cut through their moment, and he turned to them. The genius had Peter – who was still holding that damn duckling – behind him, and had taken up a protective stance as he eyed Bucky warily.

“Is everything okay?” he asked calmly, but Steve could see the fear in his eyes. With the knowledge that the man in front of him had killed his parents, Steve couldn't really blame him.

“Everything's fine,” he reassured, at the same time that Bucky murmured, “I should go.”

He turned to the man, hoping for a goodbye at least, but he was already slinking away, back into the trees and out of sight.

“Steve?” Tony asked softly.

“I'm – I'm...” But the truth was, Steve didn't know how to feel, so when Tony moved forwards to steer him back to the bench, he went willingly, vaguely aware that he was swaying a little on the spot.

“Just sit down and take some deep breaths, okay?” the brunet told him. “Hey, Pete? Why don't you go play with the duckling on the grass for a couple minutes, 'kay?”

“But -”

“I'll get your hot-dog, I promise.”

Steve didn't know if the little boy had done as he was told, because tears were blinding his vision. Tony was there in the next second, though, wrapping him up in his arms and holding him close against his chest, and he found he could breathe a little better again.

“Did... did he hurt you?” the genius whispered, and Steve took a deep breath, shaking his head. “Good. That's... good.”

“I just wanted him to come home,” he replied, sniffing back yet more tears, “but he has stuff to do first.”

“It'll be okay, baby,” Tony breathed, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead. “He'll figure it out. It's okay.”

After a moment, Steve reached out and wrapped his arms around Tony's middle. “Thank you,” he whispered, meaning every word. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

“We all have stuff, Steve,” the brunet replied, running a soothing hand through his hair. “You more than most. It's nothing to be ashamed of if it blind-sides you.”

“Okay,” he sighed, taking a deep breath as he sat up properly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Tony replied without hesitating, but he still looked worried. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Steve replied honestly, looking over to where Peter was gently stroking the sleeping duckling's beak where it had perched on his lap, “but I will be.”

“All right.” Tony didn't seem totally convinced, but he obviously decided to let it go as he leaned in for a soft, reassuring kiss. “I gotta go get the kid a hot-dog.”

Steve laughed softly, and wiped the tears away from his eyes. “I don't know about you, but I'm pretty hungry, too. Let's all go.”

“Great,” Tony smiled, clambering to his feet. “Oh, and, uh, I don't think we'll be leaving without that duckling. They've imprinted on each other.”

Steve just sighed. “Well, it's not like the tower could get any more crazy.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one chapter left now!

By the time they got back into the car to go home, Peter was fast asleep, and Jemima Puddle Duck (or, in Peter's case, “'Mima Puddle Duckie”) was tucked safely into Tony's breast pocket. The genius had explained that her mother had refused to take her back – probably because she couldn't swim so well because of her foot – and had promised Peter to make her a little prosthetic flipper so they could put her in the bathtub at home.

“So, as far as first dates go...” Tony grinned as they climbed back out of the car again in the tower's garage, “...we're up one brainwashed sniper and a handicapped duckling. I'd say it was a roaring success.”

Steve laughed softly, shifting Peter onto his hip, and leaned down to kiss the genius' cheek. “It was wonderful,” he told him sincerely, because, apart from the situation with Bucky, it really had been. Tony was wonderful with Peter; he seemed to have completely gotten over his fear of not being good enough, and the little boy adored him like a father.

“Would a blowjob make it better?”

“ _Tony_ ,” he chastised with a surprised laugh. “Later.”

They ascended to the communal floor quickly, and Steve put Peter down on the couch to finish the rest of his nap in peace. For once, the little boy had gone down without his pacifier, and that made Steve proud for reasons he couldn't quite express or understand.

“Hey, what do ducks eat?” Tony asked quietly, slipping past him into the kitchen. “JARVIS, what do ducks eat?”

Sure that Peter was okay, Steve followed after the genius and entered the kitchen. There, Clint was already fawning over the duckling, holding it close to his face and cooing as though it were a baby, and Steve was completely unsurprised. True to his title, the archer seemed to have a soft spot for birds, especially baby ones.

“ _Oats and grains seem to be a safe bet, sir,”_ the AI was telling Tony. _“Though rice – both cooked and uncooked – is also an option, as are fruit and vegetable peels.”_

“Well, at least we have a use for the peels that Peter doesn't eat now,” Steve shrugged, sitting opposite Clint. “I hate wasting them.”

“You're gonna fix her foot, right?” Clint asked, watching with a frown as the little thing went hobbling over the surface of the table.

“Working on it,” Tony replied distractedly, tablet already in hand as he sat down – the other hand occupied with a little plate of oats that he'd stolen out of Bruce's cupboard, which he placed on the table.

“What's her name?” Clint asked, watching with a child-like glee as the duckling wobbled over to begin pecking at the oats.

“Jemima,” Tony mumbled.

“Like in the book? That's fucking adorable.”

“I know. It was the kid's idea – I wanted Quackula.”

“Also an acceptable name.”

While they continued to chat, Steve turned and smiled when Thor entered the room. The god was also carrying a tablet in his hand, and looked vaguely distressed.

“What's up, buddy?” Steve asked. “You okay?”

“I am afraid the villainous knaves at the newspaper have evidence of your love,” the god replied, holding the tablet out to him. On it, there was already an article about his and Tony's 'forbidden love', and photos of them kissing in the park.

“Wow, they were faster than I expected,” he hummed, showing the article to Tony, who shrugged, “but we're not upset, Thor. They were going to find out sometime.”

“So you're official now, huh?” Clint asked, leaning over to look at the pictures. “Wow, make out much?”

“Shut up, Barton,” Tony tutted, pushing the man away. “But yes, it looks like it.”

“We'll probably have to put out an official statement,” Steve hummed again, flicking through the rest of the pictures. There wasn't a single one of either Peter or Bucky, and Steve didn't know if the latter was a coincidence or not.

“I'll get Pepper on it,” Tony promised, just as his cell phone began to ring. “Actually, that'll probably be her now to yell at me for making out with you in public.”

“Sorry,” Steve apologised a little sheepishly, but just received a kiss on the cheek for his trouble.

“Totally worth it,” Tony grinned as he got to his feet and pressed his phone to his ear. “Hey, Pep... No, it wasn't my idea -”

Steve watched, smiling, as he walked out of the room, voice dropping to a whisper as he wandered past Peter. A warm, bubbly feeling settled deep in his chest and he sighed, perfectly content.

“You guys are going to be so gross,” Clint muttered, going back to gently playing with Jemima. “Oh, and before I forget, Bruce picked up a call earlier from the social services people. Apparently they called to remind you that you have a visit scheduled tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah,” he sighed. “I'd forgotten about that.”

“All will be well, brother,” Thor reassured him with a bucket sized hand on his shoulder as he passed to sit down. “Your lad is quite content.”

“I know,” he nodded, “but if one website's already got wind of our relationship, it'll be all over the news by tomorrow. I'm going to have to figure out how to diffuse that situation with them.”

“Well, it's drawing attention away from the kid, right?” Clint shrugged. “I don't see the problem.”

“He's already had so many setbacks,” Steve sighed. “If Tony and I end up breaking up -”

“Please,” the archer scoffed as he perched Jemima on his shoulder, looking far too pleased with himself as she settled down into the crook of his neck. “You idiots will still be together when the kid's getting married.”

“I... you really think so?” Steve couldn't help but grin, because he really liked that idea.

“Sure,” Clint shrugged one-shouldered. “You're obviously the one person forever kinda guy, and Tony's way too smart to let a catch like you go to waste.”

“Tony's a catch, too,” he defended, frowning.

“Why thank you, oh light of my life,” the genius replied, striding back into the room with a groggy, newly awakened Peter at his hip. “Look who decided to grace us with his presence.”

“Hey, sleepy teddy bear,” Steve grinned, taking the little boy from Tony and cuddling him close. “Have a good nap?”

Peter grunted grumpily – a little groggy like he always was after he'd just woken up from a nap – but snuggled further into Steve's embrace anyway, so he didn't take it personally. Instead, he ran a hand through the little boy's hair, and then swept his bangs away from his face and kissed his cheek.

“So, Pepper got done yelling at me,” Tony announced. “She even put Rhodey on for a few minutes while she took a break. She seems to be under the impression that the news is going to split the nation – half will love it, but the other, more vocal half will hate it, and she's worried it's going to drive a bigger wedge between us and them.”

“Oh.”

Steve honestly hadn't thought of that. He'd just been so happy, so in love, that he'd wanted the whole world to know. Now he really thought about it, though, he could understand Pepper's point of view. As Captain America, he was supposed to exude American values, and where he thought he absolutely was, not everyone was going to agree with him. Dammit, he should have thought about what he was doing before he just swept in and kissed Tony like there wouldn't be any backlash.

“How bad is this?” Clint asked, unnaturally serious. “Do I need to moon a senator to take the heat off?”

“The last thing we need is your pasty ass out in the open,” Tony tutted, rolling his eyes. “There will _never_ be a situation so dyer that we need that. Pepper seems to think we just need to tread carefully, okay? She's going to have someone set up a press conference, but we don't have to take questions if you don't want, Steve. We can just read a speech and get out of there.”

“If you think it would help,” he agreed, swallowing the lump that was beginning to form in his throat. “I'm so sorry I caused so much trouble -”

“Steve, honey,” Tony cut him off gently. “What's the worst that could happen? A call for the Avengers to be disbanded? New York wouldn't last two minutes if there was another invasion, and then they'd come crawling back to us on their knees. In the meantime, we take a vacation – get some sun, teach the kid to swim, and enjoy the downtime.”

It was a nice idea, sure. Completely unrealistic, of course – the Avengers getting disbanded was actually a best case scenario – but it was sweet of Tony to try and reassure him all the same. He just hated that their own country was beginning to turn on them in the first place, and especially if the final straw was him simply expressing his right to love who he wanted.

“I've grown up with this sort of stuff,” the genius continued, “and you can't let your fear of what people might think stop you from doing the things that make you happy. Unless... are you having second thoughts -?”

“No!” he cried quickly, reaching out to grab one of the brunet's hands. “Tony, no, of course I'm not. Never. This just... isn't how I pictured it would be when they handed me an integration packet and told me the future was a tolerant place.”

Clint's unattractive snort was really the only way to answer that, it seemed.

“Okay,” Tony nodded, a small, intimate smile spreading across his face. “So we do what Pepper says, all right? When the press conference is arranged, we explain the situation – you give them the good ol' puppy dog eyes and 'gee shucks' attitude – and then just keep our heads down for a while. Sadly, that means you're going to have to keep your hands to yourself in public, which, if I remember correctly, I _predicted_ you wouldn't be able to -”

Clint whined and covered his eyes as Steve shifted Peter on his lap to kiss Tony silent again. The man continued to mumble into his mouth for a few moments, and then sighed, obviously giving up, and kissed him back.

“Come on, guys. You're crushing the squirt's head,” the archer sighed, and, reluctantly, Steve pulled away again. “And, y'know, scarring him for life.”

“The lad is lucky to have parents who love each other so,” Thor grinned, and, beside Steve, Tony choked on his own spit.

“Uh...” the genius laughed nervously, obviously trying to avoid _that_ particular conversation. “So, yeah, all we have to do is, um, follow Pepper's orders, and, like usual, everything will be fine.”

It was too late, though; cogs were already turning in Steve's head.

\---

He had always thought that Tony would make a wonderful father, right from the very beginning, but the problem was getting the genius to agree with him. Just playing with Peter with no added pressure seemed to come easily to the man now, but Steve was pretty sure if he even brought up the idea of Tony adopting the little boy with him, the brunet would clam up again and start acting weird. It made his heart ache at the mere thought, because, since Thor had mentioned them _both_ being Peter's parents, he hadn't been able to get the image out of his head.

There wasn't an opportunity to speak to the genius the next day because of the social services visit, which, thanks to Tony letting Peter help him fix Jemima up with a prosthetic flipper, went swimmingly. If anything, Patricks seemed happy for him when he informed them of his change in relationship status, and even Hammond didn't look any more angry than usual, to his immense relief.

“He seems very happy here,” Patricks commented quietly as they watched Tony and Peter from the door of the workshop. Tony, God bless him, had even tidied up for the occasion so the room didn't look quite so much like a death trap. “He's integrated as well as we could have hoped for. Is he eating and sleeping properly?”

“He has nightmares, sometimes,” Steve sighed, though, honestly, Peter hadn't woken in the night because of that for a full week, so he hoped the little boy was beginning to feel more content. “They're not as frequent as they used to be, though. He eats pretty much whatever we put in front of him, too.”

“Good, good,” Patricks nodded, noting it down. “After the trauma he's been though, a few nightmares aren't exactly unexpected. Right then, Mr Rogers, I think that's all we need to see.”

“Great,” Steve smiled, and led them back up to the communal floor. “How'd we do?”

“At this point in the game, I think it's safe to move on to the final stage of adoption,” Patricks replied with a smile of her own, and Steve felt his heart soar. “We'll be round sometime in the next two or three weeks with the final paperwork, and then Peter will be officially released into your permanent care.”

“That's fantastic!” he laughed, and reached out to shake Patricks' hand. He even clapped Hammond on the shoulder, though the man looked no happier for it. “That's so, so great. God, thank you!”

“You're a wonderful father, Mr Rogers,” Patricks told him sincerely. “I have no doubt that, with Mr Stark and the others at your side, Peter will be protected and loved for the rest of his life.”

“Of course,” Steve nodded, showing them over to the elevator. “There's nothing more important to us.”

“Then you'll get a call from us in the next couple of weeks,” Patricks nodded. “Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Steve grinned, and just about managed to wait until they'd disappeared from sight before he whooped aloud and punched the air like an excited teenager.

After so many weeks of uncertainty, it was finally real. He was going to get to keep Peter. God, his heart felt like it was going to explode right out of his chest with joy. Turning on the spot, he bounded back down to the workshop where Tony and Peter were still making the finishing touches to Jemima's prosthetic, and, without warning, he scooped the little boy off Tony's lap to go dancing around the room with him in his arms.

“Papa, don'!” Peter squealed, and giggled uncontrollably when Steve tossed him into the air a few times.

“I guess the inspection went well, then, huh?” Tony grinned, and Steve beamed back.

“We passed! They're bringing the final paperwork in the next couple of weeks!” he crowed, catching Peter for a final time to cradle like a baby. “And we are having cake for dinner in celebration.”

Peter gasped excitedly. “'N ice cweam f'dessert?”

“And ice cream for dessert,” Steve confirmed, kissing the little boy's cheek. “And then we're going to get everyone together, make some popcorn, and watch Wall-E. What do you think?”

“Yeah!” Peter cried, obviously overjoyed.

“Okay, you go gather everyone together, buddy, while I just talk to Tony for a second, all right?” he asked, placing Peter carefully back on his feet.

Once the little boy had raced out of sight up the stairs, Steve strode over to the still grinning genius and tugged him to his feet for a hard, passionate kiss. Tony gasped into his mouth, and Steve took that as permission to slip his tongue past the man's lips, which he did with gusto.

“Wow, hi, Mr Happy Pants,” the brunet laughed breathlessly when they pulled apart again. “I'm so happy for you, baby.”

“For us,” Steve corrected quietly, swallowing Tony's inquisitive noise when he kissed him again. Taking a deep breath, he pulled away, knowing he couldn't be distracted during this. “I want you to adopt him with me, Tony.”

“ _What?”_ the genius gasped, choking on a nervous laugh. “Steve, honey -”

“I'm being serious,” he replied stubbornly, holding Tony a little tighter when the man started to wriggle out of his grasp. “I know it's a big deal, okay, and I know we haven't been together long. I know all that. I just... Peter adores you, Tony. _I_ adore you, and I want to share this with you.”

“Is this... is this because of what Thor said?”

“Partly,” Steve acquiesced, “but I've always thought you'd be a good dad, right from the second you met Peter. Just... just think about it, okay? That's all I ask. The final papers don't have to be signed for a couple of weeks, so there's time for you to decide. This is what I want, though, Tony. I know you'd do a good job.”

Tony's eyes, so big and shocked, flicked down to look at Steve's chest. “I'll think about it,” he whispered, and Steve kissed him soundly for the promise.

\---

He allowed Tony his space to think. Well, he didn't bring it up again, at least; with them basically living together, and with Peter noticing if Tony wasn't in the room for more than five minutes, it was hard not to spend time with him. Steve just made sure not to bring up the idea of joint adoption again.

Aside from that, everything was great. The other Avengers were over the moon that Peter was going to stay with them permanently, and they went about beginning the preparations for Steve's upcoming birthday. He couldn't say he was that bothered about a party, but Peter seemed excited by the thought of cake and presents, so they would probably do that in the least.

As the morning of his birthday dawned, he was awoken with a truly _magnificent_ blowjob, followed by some even better shower sex, so that, by the time he and Tony finally made it down to breakfast mid-morning, he was feeling loose-limbed and gloriously happy.

“Ew,” Natasha grimaced as soon as she caught sight of him. “I liked it better when you were a virgin.”

“I disagree,” he replied calmly, kissing the top of Peter's head as he sat down at the table. “I much prefer this.”

“I can tell,” she rolled her eyes, placing a pile of bacon, eggs and pancakes in front of him. She'd even stuck a little flag on the top. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” he told her, grinning a little when she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“No, hiss, my Steve,” Tony replied, but then ruined it all by preening when Natasha handed him a steaming cup of coffee and kissed his cheek, too.

“My kissie, Aunt Tasha?” Peter requested, shoving a cherry tomato into his mouth and then puckering his little lips in the most adorable pout. Unable to stop himself, Steve snuck a kiss of his own, and then moved out of the way so Natasha could take her turn.

“My kissie?” he asked again, aimed at Tony this time, and, sighing fondly, the genius leaned over the back of the chair as Peter looked up and kissed the little boy on the tip of his nose.

“If he keeps up the adorableness, he's going to be a nightmare teenager,” the brunet warned, and Steve was inclined to agree.

The rest of the morning was pretty great. Once Steve and Tony had finished their breakfasts and Peter had finished his snack, they gathered the other Avengers and reconvened on the penthouse balcony for presents and to start the 4th of July barbecue. Peter began eyeing up the cake as soon as Bruce brought it out, and not even the Nerf gun that Clint had bought Steve could entice the little boy away.

Pepper and Rhodey showed up around lunch time – by which point they'd given up and allowed Peter a small slice of cake, because the guys were getting nowhere with the barbecue – and gave him a beautiful set of Iron Man cuff links (Pepper) and a butt-load of beer (Rhodey), the latter of which Sam and Clint quickly swooped in to appropriate.

“I'm glad to see you finally got your acts together,” Pepper smiled, gesturing to how Tony had basically plastered himself down the side of Steve's sun lounger as she sat down opposite. “You're both idiots.”

“Love you, too,” Tony muttered, snuggling closer into Steve's arms.

“We're just glad to see you happy, Tones,” Rhodey agreed, clapping Steve on the knee as he got up to join the small crowd of guys gathering around the finally lit barbecue across the balcony. He scooped Peter up on his way – who still had chocolate icing all over his face – and carried him on his shoulders the rest of the way there.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Pepper said as they all watched fondly. She reached into her bag and drew out an A4 envelope, which she then handed over to Steve. “A woman from social services was in the lobby as we made our way up, and I offered to take these off her hands to save her a trip.”

“That'll have been Anna Patricks with the final adoption papers,” Steve grinned, shifting Tony against his chest so he could lean up and take the papers from her. “This is the best birthday _ever.”_

“You're adorable,” Tony murmured, and patted his tummy as though to prove it. “Can I give you your gift now?”

“You mean the...” Steve paused, glancing over at Pepper as he felt his neck heat.

“Blowjob and shower sex? Believe it or not, you're actually allowed to say those things in public, honey. Besides, Pepper's actually well versed in both -”

“Tony,” Pepper rolled her eyes, stretching to kick him not-so-gently with one of her heels. “You're hideous.”

“You love me.”

“I don't know why,” she sighed fondly, and smiled apologetically at Steve. “Anyway.”

“ _Anyway,”_ Tony agreed, patting Steve's tummy again as he sat up with a groan. “Hey, Pete! It's present time, buddy!”

From across the balcony, Peter gasped excitedly, and then tapped the top of Rhodey's head with his hands until the man let him down.

“It's from both of you?” Steve asked, a warm, bubbly feeling settling in his stomach.

“It's kinda from all of us,” Tony replied with a shrug, reaching out to take Peter's hand as the little boy came running over, “but it was my idea, and I organised it, so I get the recognition.”

“Ah, of course,” he laughed, sitting up to watch as Tony reached under the table and pulled out a long, rectangular something wrapped in Dora the Explorer paper.

“Here, kid, go take this to your Pops, okay?” the genius whispered to Peter, and the little boy immediately took the gift like it was made of gold and carried it over to Steve.

“Happy birfday, Papa,” he grinned shyly, and Steve swept him up onto his lap so they could open the gift together.

Inside the paper was the most beautiful, mahogany photo frame Steve had ever seen. There was space for six photographs, and each one had been filled with a picture of an Avenger and Peter pulling a pose.

“How – _when_ did you -?”

“While you were away, doing the Ellen show,” Tony replied softly, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look. “I wanted to apologise, but you did it for me before I could give it to you, so I saved it 'til now. Like it?”

The pictures were obviously professionally done. The background in each was whitewashed, and the lighting was perfect. Steve looked at each photo reverently, and couldn't keep an overjoyed smile from spreading across his face. In the first photo, Natasha and Peter were pulling karate poses together; in the second, Clint was being pelted by Nerf darts while Peter cackled gleefully. The third photo was of Peter on Sam's shoulders, both of them grinning as they showed off their arm muscles; the forth showed Peter on Bruce's lap as the man read him a story. In the fifth photo, Thor was sprawled out across the floor while Peter sat on his chest, arms raised triumphantly.

By far, the last photo was his favourite, though. It was a close, intimate shot – taken from the side – of Tony and Peter. They were in the matching suits Steve had come home to that particular evening, and their heads were ducked in close together, almost touching, as they focused on the game of pong they were playing on the tablet between their crossed legs.

“Tony,” he whispered, brushing a gentle hand over the pictures. “I... this is _beautiful.”_

“I have my moments,” Tony replied with a self-deprecating shrug, though Steve could see how proud he was. “We were going to do, like, a Blues Brothers thing, but the photographer snapped that one on her break, and I liked it better. I... did good?”

“You did _very_ good,” Steve replied, tipping his head back for a kiss. When he looked down again, Peter was still looking at the pictures analytically.

“I like dat one bes',” he decided, pointing to the photo of him and Thor. “I beated um in duh fight.”

“You did, huh?” Steve replied. “I guess that makes you the strongest guy around, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” the little boy nodded seriously. “I fighted all duh bad guys 'n won.”

Steve didn't know which bad guys they were talking about, but he nodded along anyway, because if Peter said he had beaten all the bad guys, who was he to disagree? He had an amazing imagination, and Steve was more than happy to encourage that in him.

“All right, guys, I think the burgers are ready,” Bruce called from amidst the gaggle of men gathered around the barbecue.

“ _Finally,”_ Tony sighed, plucking Peter off Steve's lap. “The smell has been driving me crazy. Come on, squirt – extra cheese and no ketchup on yours, right?”

Steve watched fondly as they ran over to fight for their burgers with everyone else, and couldn't help but smile. He loved his family so, so much.

A light buzzing alerted him to the fact that he had a text message, and, confused, he reached into his pocket to fish his phone out. His heart clenched painfully in his chest when he read who it was from, and promptly shook his head when Pepper shot him a curious look.

On the screen, underneath Bucky's phone number, was a simple  _Happy Birthday._

Yes, this had definitely been the best birthday he'd ever had.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! I'd just like to, once again, thank annabeththeunicorn and commando-rogers for their fabulous beta work <3
> 
> How would people feel about a sequel/more one-shots in this verse? I'm not sure if I'm ready to give it up yet.

The press conference was scheduled for a couple of days later. It was decided that the whole team was going to be there, because, as well as talking about his and Tony's relationship, they were going to announce Sam as an official member of the Avengers, too.

The problem was – with the whole team being there, and Pepper wrangling them all like the star that she was – there was no-one to look after Peter; Rhodey had headed back over to the Middle East the previous day, which just left Happy able to care for the little boy.

Neither of them were particularly happy about that.

“It'll just be for fifteen minutes, okay?” Steve tried to sooth as he handed a sobbing Peter over to Tony's bodyguard. “We're just going to be down the hall, and then we'll be right back.”

“I hope you're listening to that, too, Peter,” Tony grinned, letting Pepper do his tie at the other side of the room.

“Funny, Boss,” Happy grunted, grimacing as he pulled Peter close to his body and patted his back awkwardly. “We'll be, uh, fine, won't we, little guy?”

“Papa,” Peter cried, reaching out for him, and Steve's heart clenched in his chest.

“It's okay, baby boy,” he shushed, and wiped the little boy's tears away with the pads of his thumbs, before leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “I promise we'll be right back, okay? Can you be my big, brave boy for just fifteen minutes?”

Peter's bottom lip trembled and he turned to look at Tony, obviously trying to guilt trip him into staying, instead. If the stricken look that spread across the genius' face was anything to go by, it was definitely working.

“Steve,” he whispered, extending his arms to Peter as he took a tentative step forwards.

“ _Fifteen minutes,”_ Steve replied firmly, and caught the other man's arm before he could whisk the little boy away. “Come on, it's time. Be good, sweetie.”

“You, too, Peter,” Tony called over his shoulder, and was back to grinning by the time Steve dragged him out of the room, Pepper following along behind them. “We're not sending him to school, okay? We're going to teach him from home and cuddle him all day.”

Steve said nothing, but grinned shamelessly at Tony's use of “we” instead of “you”. Whether it had been a conscious decision or not, it meant the genius was thinking long-term, and Steve really couldn't think of anything better.

They met the other Avengers at the end of the corridor – the buzz of the press already audible through the door – and quickly dusted and straightened each other up. Sam was looking a little nervous, so Steve patted his back encouragingly and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Got your speech?” Sam asked as they lined up, and he patted his breast pocket with a nod.

“All right, guys, it's time,” Pepper called, and, as she opened the door, Tony reached back and squeezed Steve's hand in support.

Steve, as the leader, was going to deliver the news. Really, the others were just there as a strong front, to prove they were all supportive. Right now, as they all climbed the steps to the stage that had been erected and took their seats at the long table that had been set out, Steve had never been so grateful to them.

They all had microphones in front of them, because they expected some questions after the initial statement, but Steve, for now, was the only one who, clearing his throat, dragged his a little closer to him.

“Thank you all for coming,” he started, pulling his speech out of his pocket to read from. “There'll be time to answer your questions at the end, so all I ask is that you let me make our announcements uninterrupted.”

There were murmurs amongst the crowd – reporters shifting in their seats and taking notes – but nobody voiced their thoughts, so Steve thought it was safe to go on.

“Firstly, I'd like to announce that the Falcon has been added to the Avengers roster, and, unless unavailable, will be a permanent member of our team,” he stated, flashing Sam a smile as he did so. “Colonel Lieutenant Rhodes will continue to aid us as War Machine as a part time member when his military schedule allows it.”

The press were getting restless. Steve knew they weren't there for that particular information, but, dammit, it was important, and deserved mentioning. That done with, he then took a deep breath, glanced at Tony – who winked inconspicuously at him – and then looked out at the crowd.

“Now, to the main reason for our calling you here today,” he announced, and felt the air shift a little. “Though this matter only concerns Tony Stark and myself, our team-mates are here in a show of support for our decision.

“A few weeks ago, a photo of myself and Tony kissing was made public,” he continued, ignoring the sudden muttering amongst the crowd. “Up until now, we've been quiet on the matter. Now, however, we'd like to clear up a few points before anything gets a little too out of control.

“We had hoped we'd get a little longer to get used to this, but, with the lives we lead, that obviously isn't possible. So...” He took a deep breath, and smiled. “Tony and I are in a romantic relationship.”

Immediately, the crowd of reporters sprang to their feet, screaming out questions for them all. There was no hope in calming them, so Steve let them simply yell for a moment until they calmed down all by themselves.

Huh... looked like he'd learned a couple of things from being a father.

When the crowd was calm enough that he could hear individual questions, he gestured to a young man to get them under way.

“Do you really think, as Captain America, that announcing a same sex relationship -”

“Bisexual,” he cut in smoothly. “You can say it; I'm bisexual.”

“Do you really think that coming out as... _bisexual_ is an appropriate message to be sending kids?” he rephrased.

“Boy, are you serious?” Sam asked incredulously before Steve could answer. “Steve, is he serious? Is this really what they're going to ask?”

“Sam,” he warned, but couldn't keep himself from smiling a little as he turned back to the reporter. “Are you asking whether supporting the most basic human right – to love another person – is inappropriate?”

“Well, I -”

“Next!” Tony called before he could finish. “Daisy, hey, what's your question? You ask good questions.”

Blushing with pride, a woman who had been waiting with her hand up patiently took a stand. “I was wondering how the adoption process was going, Mr Rogers?”

Steve decided he liked her, too. “It's going very well. In fact, I'm meeting with social services later today to give them the final, signed paperwork.”

“Will Mr Stark be adopting the boy with you?” came a call from somewhere near the back, and Steve felt Tony freeze up beside him.

“That's completely up to him,” he shrugged calmly. “It certainly isn't an all or nothing situation. I'm not going to end things with him if he feels he isn't ready.”

All at once, he regretted agreeing to questions. He had known they were going to be personal, but he hadn't really realised quite  _how_ personal. He hoped that Tony already knew all of these things, because he would hate for the man to find out via a  _press conference_ , of all places.

“All right, are there any questions maybe concerning the new line-up, or -”

A loud bang from the side of the stage cut him short, and everyone whipped around, ready to pull their suits and weapons out from under the table where they had hidden them. But instead of gunshots or screaming like he had been expecting, the sound of a very familiar sob echoed through the room.

“Papa!” Peter cried, and, as Steve stood up, he realised that the little boy had thrown the door open so hard that it had slammed against the wall. “Papa!”

The press were muttering and discreetly filming the whole thing as Peter – still sobbing, and with Happy quickly catching up to him – went running over to the steps that would bring him up to the stage. Only, in his haste to find Steve and get away from Happy, he tripped up the first step and went head first into the third. Steve watched it happen as though in slow motion, and felt physically sick to his stomach when the little boy's head connected with the step.

A moment of silence passed through the whole room, and then Peter started screaming. The press were going nuts, and Happy looked too shocked to move. Steve all but kicked his chair out of the way to get to him, but then the little boy did something that had him freezing in place.

Without any hesitation, Peter pulled himself to his feet – holding a hand over his forehead – and staggered up the rest of the stairs, screaming, “Dada!” all the way.

Steve felt sick again. He had thought that Peter was over the loss of his parents – hadn't heard the little boy say Dada since that first day in the hospital – and he didn't know what to -

“Steve, sit down before you fall down,” Tony told him with a strange expression on his face, before, without another word, he went running.

Steve dropped back into his chair, everything else falling away as he watched Tony run to Peter. He expected the little boy to push him away – didn't expect anything to console him when his father wasn't there to make everything better – but, shockingly, Peter actually held his arms out for Tony to pick him up, which the man did without question.

“Oh, baby, I'm sorry,” he soothed, bouncing the little boy gently in his arms. “Daddy's here, honey. Let me take a look?”

Still hiccuping, but not visibly shedding any more tears, Peter moved his hand away from his forehead. There was a bit of a bump already starting to form that would probably bruise terribly, but it didn't look too bad.

“Now, see, it's not so bad,” Tony murmured, moving a gentle hand over the bump. “There's not even any blood, see! It just shocked you, huh? Well that's okay, baby. You're all right.”

Peter's bottom lip was still trembling, but he nodded his little head and wrapped his arms around Tony so he could bury his face in the crook of the genius' neck. Tony kissed his bump lightly and held him close as, seeming to remember where he was, he slunk back over to his seat beside Steve.

The reporters had all gone suspiciously quiet by the time Peter had settled on Tony's lap. Nobody really seemed to know what to say after that little outburst. A moment of silence passed, and then Tony, clearing his throat, leaned forwards to bring the microphone closer to him.

“So, um... to answer your question,” he shrugged, cuddling Peter a little closer. “Yes, I'll be adopting Peter with Steve.”

As the press went wild again, he pressed his hand over the microphone and turned to Steve, who's heart was hammering an excited samba against his ribcage.

“You still have the papers, right?” he asked, and Steve nodded. “Then let's get out of here.”

“This conference is over,” Steve called immediately, grinning from ear to ear as they got to their feet – the others, who didn't seem to know what to do with themselves, following along behind.

The continued screaming of the press followed them out of the hall.

\---

“It could have gone worse, is all I'm saying.”

“ _How_ could that have been any worse?” Pepper sighed, covering her face with her hands as she continued to pace up and down the kitchen.

“What was I supposed to do, _not_ go to him?” Tony replied from his place at the table, more focused on pressing an icepack onto Peter's forehead gently. Since they'd left the press conference, Steve hadn't been able to pry the little boy out of the man's arms. “He was calling for me, Pepper. He was crying, and he _needed me -”_

“I know,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I know, Tony, and I'm really happy for you. We _all_ are -”

“But we aren't supposed to be ruffling any more feathers than usual,” Steve nodded, because he could see Pepper's point. Announcing a gay relationship was one thing, but announcing they were adopting a child together on top of that was another issue entirely.

“I don't care. As of -” Tony reached out and defiantly tugged the papers on the table towards him, signing them without even a hint of a pause, “- now, Peter is my son, too. He and Steve are my number one priorities. If the public doesn't like that, they can get a new superhero team to protect them the next time some big beasty decides to pay us a visit.”

Pepper sighed, but seemed to acquiesce the point. “I'm glad you've found a family, Tony, but... this is going to be bad. Who knows what sort of lies they're going to spin about you all – about  _Peter_ . And that's without all the villains who now know how much Peter means to you.”

“I know,” Tony sighed, and leaned in to kiss the side of Peter's head. “And it's my job to keep him safe. I'm his Dad.”

“Yeah,” Steve smiled softly, “you are.”

“I mean, worst case scenario, I stick AIs into the suits and retire – live out the rest of my days as Steve's trophy wife,” Tony shrugged.

Steve knew that Pepper was right, of course. The threat of the press in this modern world was very real, and could ruin them – especially now there was no SHIELD to protect them. He had no doubt in his mind that they wouldn't stick to their restraining order, and it was likely that the press conference footage was already live on the internet, completely uncensored and regardless of Peter being there. Even if they sued, the video would still be out there – would still be accessible to every one of both his and Tony's enemies. On top of that, there was still the whole “same sex relationship” issue to deal with, too. There was so much for the Government to use against them that, no matter what they did now, they wouldn't be totally safe. Possibly not ever.

Steve thought he should probably be panicking about that.

Instead – as he looked at Peter and Tony – all he felt was content. Here, in this moment, in their kitchen, they were safe, and they were loved. They had the other Avengers, Pepper, Rhodey, and even Bucky on their side. They weren't alone; they had friends.

They had a family.

 


End file.
